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THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 



THE DUCHESS 
OF PADUA 



BY 

OSCAR WILDE 



NEW YORK 
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

1906 



* T'Ai) Guyisi fiectivcd 

I StP 14 906 

^ /S/2S'S 



1 






Translation 

Copyright 1906 bt 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 



Pucbtss of Padua 



CHARACTERS. 

SiMONE Gesso, Duke of Padua. 

Beatrice^ his wife. 

Andrea Pollajuolo, Cardinal of Padua. 

Maffio Petrucci, J 

Jeppo Vitellozzo^ V Courtiers of the Duke. 

Taddeo Bardi^ j 

GuiDo Ferranti. 

Ascanio Cristofano, his friend. 

Count Moranzone. 

Bernardo Cavalcanti^ Chief Judge of Padua. 

HuGO^ the executioner. 

Lucia, waiting woman. 

Servants, Citizens, Soldiers, Falconers, Monks, 
etc. 

Place — Padua. 

Time — The second half of the sixteenth cen- 
tury. 

Act I. — Market-place in Padua. 

Act II. — Room in the ducal palace. 

Act III. — Corridor in the ducal palace 

Act IV. — Court of justice. 

Act V. — Prison. 



THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 



ACT FIRST. 

Market-place in Padua. In the background 
the cathedral^ built in the Romanesque style of 
black and white marble. A marble staircase 
leads to the portal of the building. At the foot 
of the steps are two huge stone lions. The 
houses at both sides of the stage have gay awn- 
ings before the windows and are enclosed by 
stone arcades. At the right is the fountain, rep- 
resenting a sea god in green bronze reclining on 
a couch, blowing a horn. Around the fountain 
is a stone bench. The bells of the cathedral are 
ringing, and the citizens, men, women and chil- 
dren, are flocking in. 

GuiDO Ferranti and Ascanio Cristofano. 

AsCANio. As sure as I live, Guido, I won't go 
a step farther, or my breath will fail — for curs- 
ing. Such a damnable will o' the wisp wander- 
ing! {Sits on the bench by the fountain.) 

Guido. It must be here. {Lifting his cap, he 

17] 



8 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

Speaks to a passer-by.) Pardon me, sir; is this 
the market-place and yonder the church of Santa 
Croce? {Citizen nods.) I thank you. 

AscANio. Well ? 

GuiDO. Yes, it is here. 

AscANio. I would it were somewhere else, for 
I see no tavern. 

GuiDO {takes a letter from his pocket and 
reads). Time — noonday. City — Padua, Place — 
market. Day — St. Philip's. 

AscANio. And the man? How shall we rec- 
ognize him? 

GuiDO {goes on reading). "I shall wear a vio- 
let mantle, on whose shoulder is embroidered a 
silver falcon " a rich garment, Ascanio. 

AscANio. I would rather have my leather 
jerkin. And do you believe he will tell you of 
your father? 

GuiDO. Certainly. Have you forgotten, it is 
barely a month ago that I was in Weinberg, at 
the corner of the street where the goats always 
come in, when a man rode up the highway and 
asked me if my name was Guido. He gave me 
this letter, with the signature : "Your father's 
friend." In it I was commanded to come here 
to-day, if I desired to know the secret of my 
birth. I have always believed old Pietro to be 
my uncle, but the letter stated this was not so. 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 9 

I had only been committed, in my childhood, to 
his care, by one whom he had never seen again. 

AscANio. So you don't know who your father 
is? 

GuiDo. No. 

AscANio. Have not even a remembrance of 
him? 

GuiDO. None, Ascanio, none. 

AscANio (laughing). Then you can't have 
had your ears boxed by him as often as I have 
by my father. 

GuiDO (smiling). And of course you never 
deserved the cuffs. 

Ascanio. Never, that was the worst of it ; not 
even the consciousness of guilt swelled my breast. 
What hour did he appoint? 

GuiDO. Noon. (The cathedral clock strikes). 

Ascanio. That time has come now, and your 
man is not yet here. I don't believe in him, 
Guido ; it's probably some girl who has cast an 
eye upon you. I've followed you from Perugia 
to Padua — as sure as I live, now you shall fol- 
low me to the nearest tavern. (Rises.) By the 
great gods of the stomach, Guido, I'm as wild 
for food as a widow for a husband, as tired of 
running as a girl of being lectured on virtue, 
and as dry as a church sermon. Come, Guido, 
you stand there staring into vacancy like an idiot 



lO THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

who would like to peer into his own skull. Your 
man isn't coming. 

GuiDO. I fear you are right. Ha! {Just as 
he is preparing to go with Ascanio, Count Mo- 
ranzone appears in a violet mantle, on whose 
shoulder is embroidered a silver falcon. He 
crosses the stage to the cathedral and, as he is 
about to enter, Guido runs up the steps and 
touches him.) 

MoRANZONE. Guido Ferranti, you are punct- 
ual. 

GuiDO. Does my father live? 

MoRANZONE. Yes, he lives — in you. In feat- 
ures, bearing, walk, and outward man you re- 
semble him. I hope you also have his noble na- 
ture. 

GuiDO. Tell me about my father! I have 
lived solely for this one moment. 

MoRANZONE. Let us be alone. 

Guido. This is my most faithful friend, who 
for my sake has come with me to Padua; there 
is no secret which we do not share like brothers. 

MoRANZONE. There is one secret which you 
must not confide in him. So bid him go. 

Guido (to Ascanio). Return in an hour. He 
does not know that nothing in the world can 
dim the flawless mirror of our love. So, in an 
hour. 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA II 

AscANio. Don't talk with him ; he has the evil 
eye. 

GuiDO (laughing). No, no; I have no doubt 
that he will tell me I am some great noble in 
Italy, and that long days of joy await us. In an 
hour, dearest friend. (Exit Ascanio.) Now, 
tell me of my father. (Sits down on the stone 
bench.) Was he tall? I'm sure that he sat high 
upon his horse. Was his hair black? Perhaps 
'twas reddish gold, as fire glistens. Was his 
voice low? Brave heroes sometimes have low 
tones of voice. Or was it like the clang of the 
war trumpets that scatter foemen's ranks? Did 
he ride alone, or was he followed by bands of 
shield-bearers and valiant troopers? Often I 
have fancied that royal blood flows in my veins. 
Was he a king? 

MoRANZONE. He was the kingliest of men. 

GuiDO (proudly). Then, when you saw him 
last, my noble father towered high above other 
men? 

MoRANZONE. He towered high above the 
heads of all men (goes to Guido and lays his 
hand on his shoulder) upon the scaffold, where 
his neck awaited the headman's axe. 

GuiDO (starting up). Who are you, terrible 
man, who, like the raven, the spectral screech- 
owl, comes with this message of sorrow from the 
grave ? 



12 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

MoRANzoNE. I am known as Count Moran- 
zone, lord of a desolate castle among the cliffs, 
with a few acres of barren land and a small train 
of servants ; but I was once foremost of Parma's 
nobles; nay, more than that, I was your father's 
friend. 

GuiDO {clasping his hand). Tell me about 
him! 

MoRANzoNE. You are the son of Lorenzo, the 
great Duke, whose standard waved on many a 
hard-fought field in war against the unbelieving 
Saracens. He was the Prince of Parma and the 
Duke of the whole beautiful realm of Lombardy 
as far as Florence; nay, Florence herself was 
tributary to 

GuiDO. Come to his death! 

MoRANzoNE. You'll hear it soon enough. He 
was at war — O noble warriors who would never 
tolerate injustice in Italy — he was leading the 
chosen flower of knighthood against the Lord 
of Rimini, the adulterer, Giovanni Malatesta — 
may God punish him — and was treacherously 
lured by him into an ambush, fettered like a 
slave and, like a scoundrel, like a base-born hind, 
slain on the public scaffold. 

GuiDO (grasping his dagger). And Malatesta 
lives ? 

MoRANzoNE. No; he is dead. 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I3 

GuiDO. Dead, did you say? Oh, all too nim- 
ble Death, hadst thou but waited a brief time 
for me, I would have filled your office. 

MoRANzoNE (clutching his wrist). You can 
do so still ! The man who sold him is yet alive. 

GuiDO. Sold? My father sold? 

MoRANZONE. Bartered like an ox; betrayed 
for a large reward, exchanged, bargained for in 
a secret market by him whom he believed a 
model friend, in whom he trusted, whom he 
treasured in his heart, bound to him by the ties 
of kindness. He who sows kindness on this 
earth will reap only ingratitude. 

GuiDO. And the man who sold him lives I 

MoRANZONE. I will take you to him. 

GuiDo. So you live, Judas? Well, I'll make 
the world your potter's field. Buy it at once, 
for you must hang there. 

MoRANZONE. Judas, did you say? Yes, Judas 
in treachery, but he was more crafty than Judas, 
for thirty pieces of silver seemed to him too 
small a price. 

GuiDO. How much was given for my father's 
head? 

MoRANZONE. How much ? Why, cities, fiefs, 
principalities, vineyards, provinces ! 

GuiDO. Of which he shall keep only six feet 
to rot in. Where is the accursed scoundrel — 



14 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA fAct I 

where? Show me the man and, though he were 
mailed in steel from head to foot, cased and en- 
closed in armor, nay, even if he were defended 
by a thousand troopers, I'll strike him through 
their wall of spears and see the last drops of his 
black heart's blood trickle from my blade. The 
man, — I'll make him cold ! 

MoRANZONE (calmly). Do you call that ven- 
geance, fool? Death is the earthly lot of all 
men, and if he comes suddenly, that is a gain. 
(Goes close to Guido.) Your father was sold — 
let that be your watchword. You must sell the 
seller! You must serve at his court, must eat 
the same bread with him, at the same table 

Guido. Oh, bitter bread! 

MoRANzoNE. Your palate is too delicate ; ven- 
geance will sweeten it. In the evening you must 
be his boon companion at the drinking bouts, his 
bosom friend, that he may cling to you, love 
you, confide to you all his intrigues. If he bids 
you be merry, laugh; if he chooses a serious 
mood, put on weeds of woe. When the time is 
ripe — {Guido grasps his szvord). No, no, I will 
not trust you ; your hot blood, your unbridled na- 
ture, your youth will not wait for this ven- 
geance, but shatter it by your fury. 

Guido. You do not know me. Name the 
man. I will follow your counsel in every point. 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I5 

MoRANzoNE. When the time is at hand, the 
victim lulled to sleep, the hour favorable, then 
I will secretly send you by a swift messenger a 
sign. 

GuiDO. Tell me, how is he to die? 

MoRANZONE. You must that night climb to 
his sleeping room — mark this well ! 

GuiDO. Have no fear ! 

MoRANZONE. I do not know whether the 
guilty sleep, but if he does, first wake him and 
seize him by the throat — so, do you see? And 
when you have told him whose blood runs in 
your veins, whose son you are, and what is the 
meaning of your vengeance, then let him, if he 
pleads, beg you for mercy. Let him offer you 
treasures for his life, and when he has stripped 
himself of all his gold, tell him, 'T need no gold, 
I know no mercy," and straightway do your 
duty. Now, swear that you will not murder 
him till I command, or I will go back home and 
leave you ignorant, your father unavenged. 

GuiDO. I swear it to you by my father's ban- 
ner 

MoRANZONE. The executioner tore it to tat- 
ters in the public market place. 

GuiDO. By my father's grave 

MoRANZONE. By what grave? Your noble 
father rests within no grave. His dust was scat- 



1 6 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

tered in the air, his ashes were whirled by the 
wind through the city Hke the chaff that stings 
the beggars' eyes. His head was impaled outside 
the prison, adorned in mockery with a paper 
crown, that the insolent mob might jeer at his 
features. 

GuiDO. Was it so? By my father's stainless 
name, by the basely cruel manner of his death, 
by his friend's shameless villainy — by all these 
I swear I will not lay hands upon his life till 
you command, then — God protect his soul, for 
he shall die far worse than any dog. And now 
the sign? 

MoRANzoNE. This dagger, my son, your fa- 
ther's dagger. 

GuiDO. Oh, let me look at it ! Now I remem- 
ber that my supposed uncle, the good old man, 
spoke of a cloak — I was wrapped in it when an 
infant — on which two such leopards were em- 
broidered in gold. I like them better in steel, 
like these; they suit their purpose more aptly. 
Tell me, my lord, have you no message from my 
father ? 

MoRANZONE. You ncvcr saw your father, my 
son. When his false friend had betrayed him, 
I alone of all his nobles escaped to bear the news 
to the Duchess of Parma. 

GuiDo. Tell me of my mother! 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I7 

MoRANZONE. Your mother — no saint was 
purer — fell fainting at the tidings, was prema- 
turely seized with the pangs of childbirth — she 
had been married only seven months — and 
brought you into the world before the time. 
Then her soul flew heavenward to receive your 
father at the gate of paradise. 

GuiDO. My mother dead, my father offered 
for sale ! I feel as if I stood upon an encircling 
wall, and messenger after messenger approached 
bringing bad news; let me take breath, my ears 
are weary. 

MoRANZONE. When your mother died, fear- 
ing our foes, I spread the rumor that you had 
died too ; then, carrying you away, I took you 
to a faithful servant who lives at Perugia. You 
know the rest. 

GuiDO. Did you see my father again ? 

MoRANZONE. Yes, once. In the shabby gar- 
ments of a vine-dresser I stole to Rimini. 

GuiDO (clasping his hand). Oh, noble heart! 

MoRANZONE. Everything is for sale in Rim- 
ini. I bought his guards ! When your father 
heard that a son was born to him, his face shone 
brightly underneath his helmet like the distant 
glow of firelight on the sea. Clasping my hands, 
he besought me to rear you to be worthy of him 



1 8 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

— I did so. Now revenge his death on the false 
friend ! 

GuiDO. In my father's place, I thank you for 
it. Now the name? 

MoRANZONE. How you remind me of him! 
In every movement you resemble him. 

GuiDO. The scoundrel's name ! 

MoRANZONE. You sliall learn it presently. 
The Duke is already on the way here with his 
court. 

GuiDO. What does this mean? His name! 

MoRANzoNE. Do you not think they are a 
valiant band of honorable, stately gentlemen? 

GuiDO. The name. Count! (The Duke of 
Padua appears, with Count Bardi, Maffio, Pe- 
triicci, and other gentlemen of his court.) 

MoRANzONE {quickly). The man before 
whom I kneel is your father's murderer. Pay 
heed! 

GuiDO {gripping his dagger). The Duke I 

MoRANZONE. Loose your fingers from the 
steel! Do you forget so soon? {Kneels before 
the Duke.) My noble lord! 

Duke. I greet you, Count Moranzone; it is 
long since we have seen you in Padua. We 
hunted yesterday near your castle — do you call it 
castle? That dreary house where you sit mum- 
bling over your rosary and confessing like a 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA IQ 

good old man. I shall probably never be a good 
old man. God would weary of the confession of 
my sins. {Sees Guido and starts.) Who is this? 

MoRANZONE. My sister's son, Your Grace. 
Being now old enough to bear arms, he would 
like to remain for a time at court. 

Duke (still gazing at Guido). What is his 
name? 

MoRANZONE. Guido Ferranti, my lord. 

Duke. From what city? 

MoRANZONE. He comes from Mantua. 

Duke {approaching Guido). You have the 
eyes of a man I knew, but he died childless. 
You wish to serve me ; soldiers are needed. Are 
you honorable, youth? Then, don't practice 
usury on me with your honor. Keep it for 
yourself. In Padua reputation is deemed brag- 
gadocio, so it is out of fashion. Just look at 
these gentlemen! They smell of amber and 
sweet perfumes. 

Bardi {aside). The poisoned arrow is evi- 
dently aimed at us. 

Duke. Each man whom you see yonder has 
his price, though — to be just — some of them 
are dear. 

Bardi {aside). I suspected it. 

Duke. So don't be honorable. Singularity 
is not conducive to advancement, though in our 



20 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

shallow, insipid times the most extraordinary 
thing a man can do is to be sensible, for then 
the populace jeers at him. Scorn the mob as I 
do ! Their praise is froth, and their vain favor 
I despise; popularity with the people is the one 
affront I have never known. 

Maffio (aside). He'll not lack hatred, if he 
needs it. 

Duke. Be wise ; in your dealings with the 
world tame your ardor ! Think twice ! The 
first suggestion is usually good. 

GuiDO (aside). A toad sits on his lips and 
scatters its venom from them. 

Duke. See that you have enemies, or the 
world will set no special value on you. It con- 
siders them a sign of power. But show the smil- 
ing mask of friendship to every one until you 
have him firmly in your grasp. Then crush him ! 

GuiDO (aside). O wise philosopher! You 
are digging a deep pit for yourself. 

MoRANzoNE (to Guido) . Do you note his 
words ? 

Guido. Only too well. 

Duke. Be not too conscientious either; the 
hand which is clean but empty offers a pitiable 
spectacle. If you desire the lion's share of life, 
wear a fox's skin. It will fit you ; it is a coat 
that fits every man — the fat and the lean, the tall 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 21 

and the short; whoever makes such a coat for 
you is a tailor who will never lack customers. 

GuiDO. I will remember it, Your Grace. 

Duke. Right, my boy, right ! I want no shal- 
low fools around me, who weigh life's gold with 
sordid scruples and move with wavering, uncer- 
tain tread. Failure is the only crime I know 
not. Let me have men about me. And con- 
science is but a name which renegade Cowardice 
scrawls upon his shield. Have you understood, 
boy? 

GuiDO. Yes, Your Grace; I'll follow your 
counsel in everything. 

Maffio. I never found Your Grace so much 
inclined to preach. The Cardinal must look to 
his laurels. 

Duke. My gospel is practiced by the world; 
his is prated. I care little for the Cardinal, 
though he may be a pious churchman, and do not 
deny his tediousness. Well, then, from to-day 
we will number you among our courtiers. {He 
holds out his hand for Giiido to kiss. Guido 
starts back in horror, but at a gesture from Count 
Moranzone, kneels and kisses it.) Henceforth 
you shall be equipped as becomes our court and 
your rank. 

GuiDO. I heartily thank Your Grace. 

Duke. Once more, what was your name? 



22 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 



GuiDO. Guido Ferranti, my lord. 

Duke. From Mantua? Take heed to your 
wives, now such a handsome gallant has come 
to Padua. You have good cause to laugh, Count 
Bardi, for I know how carefree is the man beside 
whose hearth a charmless woman sits. 

Maffio. By your leave, Your Grace, the 
women of Padua are proof against suspicion. 

Duke. Are they all ugly ? Come ! The Car- 
dinal is keeping our devout wife a long time ; 
his sermon and his beard ought to be cut. Will 
you attend us. Count, and listen with us to a text 
from Hieronymus? 

MoRANZONE (bowing). My lord, unfor- 
tunately 

Duke (interrupting him). I'll spare you the 
excuse if you want to miss the mass. Now, 
come. (Exit with his train into the cathedral.) 

Guido (after a pause). My father was the 
Duke's victim, and I kissed his hand. 

MoRANZONE. In future, do so often ! 

Guido. Must I ? 

MoRANZONE. Yes ! You have taken an oath. 

Guido. It will turn me to stone. 

MoRANZONE. Farewell, my son; you will not 
see me again until the time has come. 

Guido. Let it be soon, I beseech you. 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 



23 



MoRANzoNE. I shall be on the spot when the 
hour is at hand. Be ready. 

GuiDO. Fear nothing. 

MoRANzoNE. Here is your friend. Banish 
him from Padua and your heart. 

GuiDo. From Padua, yes ; from my heart, no. 

MoRANzoNE. Yes, at once. I will not leave 
you until you have done it. 

GuiDo. Will you grant me no friend? 

MoRANZONE. Take vengeance for your friend. 
You need no other. 

GuiDo. Well, then, be it so ! {Ascanio Cristo- 
fano enters.) 

Ascanio. Guido, I've stolen a march on you 
in everything. Fve drunk a bottle of wine, eaten 
a pasty, and kissed the waitress. You look as 
melancholy as a schoolboy who can't buy him- 
self an apple, or a politician who can't sell his 
vote. What news is there, Guido? 

GuiDO. Ascanio, we two must bid each other 
farewell. 

Ascanio. That would certainly be news, but 
it isn't true. 

GuiDo. Too true, Ascanio ; you must go now, 
and never look upon my face again. 

Ascanio. No, no ; you really do not know me, 
my Guido. Though I am only a plain farmer's 
son, ill-trained in courtly manners, I can still, 



24 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

if your birth is noble, be your serving man. I 
will be more faithful than any hireling. 

GuiDO (clasping his hand). Ascanio ! (Sees 
Moranzone's threatening glance and lets Ascan- 
io' s hand fall.) It cannot be. 

Ascanio. What, is that your feeling? I 
thought the loyal friendship of the ancient world 
was not yet dead, that the Roman model still 
found its counterpart in our shallow, common- 
place times. By this love, which flows as placid- 
ly as the sea in summer, may I not share what- 
ever fate has fallen to your lot? 

GuiDo. Share ? 

Ascanio. Yes ! 

GuiDo. No, no. 

Ascanio. Has any heritage come to you — a 
castle with turrets or piles of gold? 

GuiDO (bitterly). Yes, I have entered into 
my inheritance. Oh, bloody legacy; Oh, cruel 
fate ! I must guard it as anxiously as a miser, 
and keep it for myself. So, I entreat you, leave 
me. 

Ascanio. What? Shall we never again sit 
hand in hand as in the days of old, so absorbed 
in some ancient book of chivalry that head 
pressed head? Shall we never again steal out 
of school and follow the huntsmen in the autumn 
through the forests, see the falcons as they loose 



Act I] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 2$ 

them from the thong when the hare springs 
from the thicket? 

GuiDO. Never again. 

AscANio. Must I leave you without one kind 
word? 

GuiDO. Leave me ; may love follow you. 

AscANio. Your conduct is unknightly — base. 

GuiDO. Unknightly, base — if you choose. 
Why waste unnecessary words ? Farewell ! 

AscANio. Have you no word of kindness, 
Guido ? 

GuiDO. No. Everything lies behind me like 
a dream. To-day my life begins. Farewell ! 

AscANio. Farewell! (Exit slowly.) 

GuiDO. Well, are you satisfied now? Did 
you not see how I thrust from me my friend, my 
dearest comrade, as if he were some scullion? 
Oh, that I should do it! Are you not content 
iiozvf 

IMoRANzoNE. I am. Now my way leads me 
back to my desolate fortress in the mountains. 
Remember the sign — your father's dagger, and 
when I send it to you, do the deed ! 

Guido. You may be sure of that. (Exit 
Count Moranzone.) Oh, thou eternal Heaven, 
if there still lingers in my soul one touch of na- 
ture, of fair compassion, of sweet friendship, let 
it wither, sear and destroy it, for if thou dost not, 



26 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act I 

I myself must cut pity from my heart with the 
sharp edge of steel, must strangle mercy at night, 
mid sleep, that she may not speak. Vengeance is 
the watchword ! Be thou my bedfellow, my com- 
rade; sit thou beside me, ride to the hunt with 
me ; when I am weary sing to me beautiful songs, 
and when I am cheerful jest with me, and when 
I dream whisper into my ear the horrible tidings 
of my father's murder — did I say murder? 
{Drazvs his dagger.) Oh, hear me, God of Ter- 
ror, who dost punish all perjury; let angels in- 
scribe in characters of flame this oath, that hence- 
forth, until I have expiated with blood my fa- 
ther's murder, I solemnly renounce the noble 
bonds of honorable friendship, the noble joys of 
social intercourse, the ties of affection and loyal 
gratitude ; nay, more — from this hour I renounce 
the love of women and the idle toy called beauty. 
(The organ in the cathedral peals forth. Be- 
neath a canopy embroidered in silver, home by 
four scarlet-clad pages, the Duchess of Padua de- 
scends the steps; as she passes her eyes meet 
Guido's a moment, and as she leaves the stage 
she glances back at him; the dagger falls from 
his hand.) Tell me, who is that? 
A Citizen. The Duchess of Padua ! 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA T.'J 



ACT II. 

Magnificent room in the ducal palace. The 
tapestries on the walls represent the procession 
of Venus. A zvide doorzvay in the center leads 
to a colonnade with red marble pillars, through 
which is a view of Padua. At the right a large 
canopy above three thrones, one of which stands 
somewhat lower than the other two. The ceiling 
is ornamented with long, gilded rays. Furniture 
in the style of the times; the chairs are covered 
with gilt leather, the sideboards are filled with 
gold and silver utensils, and the chests are paint- 
ed with mythological scenes. A number of cour- 
tiers are standing in the colonnade outside, look- 
ing down into the street, from which rises the 
roar of a mob and shouts of "Down with the 
Duke." After a short interval the Duke enters 
very calmly. He is leaning on Guido Ferranti's 
arm. The Cardinal enters with him. The out- 
cry still continues. 

Duke. No, Cardinal, I am utterly weary of 
her, for she is even worse than ugly — good. 



28 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

Maffio (excitedly). Two thousand people, 
Your Highness, have assembled, and are shout- 
ing more insolently every moment. 

Duke. Pshaw, they are wasting the strength 
of their lungs ! Those who roar so loudly, gen- 
tlemen, will do us no harm. The only malcon- 
tents I fear are the quiet ones. (Howls of the 
populace.) See how my people love me. Car- 
dinal ; they are giving me a serenade which I 
would rather hear than the most fanciful mel- 
odies on the lute. Is it not a delight to listen to 
it? (Renezved cries.) A pity that they have 
dropped a little out of time ; my soldiers ought 
to shoot them for it. I can't endure caterwaul- 
ing. Petrucci, go tell the captain of our guards 
below to clear the square. Is your hearing bad? 
Do what I order. (Exit Petrucci.) 

Cardinal. I beseech Your Grace, listen to 
their misery! 

Duke (seating himself on the throne). Yes, 
yes, the pears to-day are by no means as large as 
usual. Pardon me. Cardinal, I thought you were 
speaking of pears. (Shouts of joy from the peo- 
ple.) What is that? 

GuiDO (rushes to the window). The Duchess 
is in the square; she has stepped between the 
soldiers and the populace to prevent the firing. 

Duke. The devil ! 



Act 11] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 2g 

GuiDO (still at the window). Now, with a 
dozen citizens, she is just entering the palace. 

Duke {starting up). The Duchess, by heaven, 
is presuming a great deal ! 

Bardi. She is coming. 

Duke. Shut that door ; the morning air is 
cold. {The door leading to the colonnade is 
closed. The Duchess enters with a group of 
shabbily dressed citizens.) 

Beatrice {throwing herself upon her knees). 
I beseech Your Grace to hear us. 

Duke. Am I a tailor, noble lady, that you ap- 
pear before me with such a ragged rabble ? 

Beatrice. The rags, I think, should proclaim 
their want more eloquently than I can do. 

Duke. In what does the want consist? 

Beatrice. Alas, my husband, common things, 
of which neither you, nor I, nor any of these 
noble gentlemen need ever have even the most 
distant thought. The very bread they eat is 
baked from half-rotten chaff. 

First Citizen. Yes, nothing but chaff. 

Duke. Excellent food ; I give it to my horses. 

Beatrice {controlling herself). And the wa- 
ter which fills the city cisterns has been befouled, 
by the breaking of the aqueducts, into swampy 
pools and miry puddles. 



30 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act 11 

Duke. Drink wine, for water is always un- 
healthy. 

Second Citizen. Alas, Your Grace, the 
duties demanded at the city gates have grown so 
high that wine is not for us. 

Duke. Then praise the duties which keep 
you sober. 

Beatrice. Consider; we shine in pomp and 
splendor here, and lack for nothing which luxury 
and wealth can offer, with an army of servants 
who await every sign, while through their sun- 
less alleys gaunt poverty steals, secretly and 
noiselessly piercing the warm throats of the little 
children with its keen knife. 

Third Citizen. Yes, indeed, that's true. My 
little boy died last night of hunger ; he was just 
six years old. I am so poor I cannot bury him. 

Duke. If you are poor, are you not to be 
called happy on that account? Why, poverty is 
a Christian ornament. {To the Cardinal.) Isn't 
that true? You, Cardinal, I know, have large 
estates, fat livings, tithes and landed property in 
return for preaching voluntary poverty. 

Beatrice. My noble Duke, my husband, be 
merciful ! While we sit here within proud halls, 
with colonnades to shut out the sun, with walls- 
and roofs to banish winter, there are many citi- 
zens in Padua lodged in such wretched hovels 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 3 1 

that rain, snow, and harsh winds are constant 
guests. Others sleep at night in autumn under 
the arches of the city bridges, till the damp mist 
stiffens their limbs and fever comes, and then — 

Duke. They are well sheltered in Abraham's 
bosom. Those who are so wretched here I send 
to heaven. Where is their gratitude for it ? {To 
the Cardinal.) Is it not written in one of the 
passages of Holy Scripture that each human be- 
ing should be contented with the lot appointed 
by God? Why must I change, meddle with the 
work of a wise Providence? It has ordained 
that some should starve while others feast. The 
world is not my work. 

First Citizen. He has a hard heart. 

Second Citizen. Keep quiet, neighbor. I 
hope the Cardinal will intercede for us. 

Cardinal. To bear poverty is indeed a Chris- 
tian duty, for God bestows a rich recompense 
upon it; yet it is no less Christian to be merciful, 
to appease hunger and heal suffering. It seems 
that there are many wrongs here in this city 
which your wisdom should reform. 

First Citizen. What is that — to reform? 
What does it mean ? 

Second Citizen. Oh, it means to leave every- 
thing just as it is. That isn't my case. 

Duke. Reform ! You, Cardinal, to talk of re- 



3^ THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

form? There lives in Germany a man named 
Luther, who reformed your Roman CathoHc 
Church. Did you not denounce him as a heretic 
and excommunicate him? 

Cardinal (rising). He led the flock out of 
the fold; we only ask you to feed the sheep. 

Duke. When I have sheared their fleece I'll 

feed them. But the rebels (The Duchess 

implores him.) 

First Citizen. Hark! One kind word, he 
will give us something. 

Second Citizen. Do you think so? 

Duke. This ragged pack that appears before 
me, with mouths overflowing with treachery 

Third Citizen. Oh, noble lord, fill them with 
bread ; then we will keep them shut. 

Duke. You shall keep them shut, hungry or 
full. The times have grown so comfortable for 
3^ou gentry that the peasant lout scarcely lifts his 
cap unless he gets a drubbing, and the day-la- 
borer jostles the nobleman on the public highway. 
But God has appointed me a scourge for this 
pack, to lash them for their sins. 

Beatrice. By what right? Are you so free 
from sins? 

Duke. When virtue chastises sin, it is noth- 
ing; but when sin scourges sin, God rejoices. 

Beatrice. Where is fear? 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 33 

Duke. Have I anything to dread? The foe 
of men, am I not the friend of God? {To the 
citizens.) Well, my good, faithful Paduans, out 
of regard for the entreaties of the Duchess — to 
refuse the petition of so fair an advocate would 
offend love and courtesy — I promise this to re- 
lieve your need : 

First Citizen. Now he'll lower the taxes ! 

Second Citizen. Or order a loaf of bread to 
be given to every man. 

Duke. On Sunday next, after mass, the Car- 
dinal shall choose for his sermon the text, How 
beautiful is obedience! {The citizens 7nurmur.) 

First Citizen. That won't fill our stomachs. 

Second Citizen. A sermon is but a thin 
sauce, if one has nothing else. 

Beatrice. You poor people ! You see, I have 
no influence on the Duke ; but if you will go to 
the palace courtyard, the treasurer shall distrib- 
ute from my own strong box, in which gold is 
not always plentiful, a hundred ducats among 
you. 

Almoner. A hundred ducats is all the ready 
money in it. 

Beatrice. Give what I have. 

First Citizen. May God guard the Duchess. 

Second Citizen. God guard her ! 

Beatrice. And every Monday morning bread 



34 THE DUCHEiSS OF PADUA [Act it 

shall be distributed among the needy. (Exit 
citizens amid signs of applause.) 

First Citizen {as he goes out). God guard 
the Duchess for the second time ! 

Duke {calling him hack). Come here, fellow! 
What is your name ? 

First Citizen. Dominick, my lord. 

Duke. A fine name ! Why did you happen to 
be called Dominick? 

First Citizen {scratching his head). Be- 
cause I was born on St. George's day. 

Duke. A good reason ! There's a ducat for 
you ! Now shout also : God guard the Duke ! 

First Citizen {faintly). God guard the 
Duke! 

Duke. Louder, fellow, louder ! 

First Citizen {somewhat louder). God 
guard the Duke ! 

Duke. More joyously, varlet; put more feel- 
ing into it! Here's another ducat for you. 

First Citizen {enthusiastically). God guard 
the Duke I 

Duke {scornfully). Gentlemen, the love of 
this plain man touches me deeply. {Turning 
angrily to the citizen.) Begone! {Exit citizen, 
bowing.) This is the way the favor of the popu- 
lace is bought in these times. Yes, we are noth- 
ing if not democratic. {To the Duchess.) Well, 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 35 

Madame, you stir up rebellion among our citi- 
zens, and by your daily alms have cunningly won 
the love of the common people. I'll not permit 
it. 

Beatrice (zvith a glance at Giiido). You are 
mistaken, my husband ; I am not loved. 

Duke. I will not have you give bread to the 
poor merely because they are hungry. 

Beatrice. The poor have unassailable rights, 
the right to pity and the right to mercy. 

Duke. Do you argue with me? So this is 
the woman for whose sake I resigned three of 
the fairest cities of Italy, Pisa, Genoa and Or- 
vieto. 

Beatrice. Promised, my lord, but not per- 
formed. You broke your word, as usual. 

Duke. You wrong me ; there were reasons of 
state 

Beatrice. What reasons can there be to 
break a sacred promise? 

Duke. In a forest near Pisa there are wild 
boars close to the city. When I promised Pisa 
to your confiding father I had forgotten that 
there was good hunting there. 

Beatrice. One who is forgetful of honor, 
my husband, remembers nothing else. 

Duke. In Genoa, it is said — I do not doubt 
it — that there are more red barbels in the har- 



36 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

bor than anywhere else in this country {To one 
of the courtiers.) You, my lord, who have be- 
held your Baal in gluttony, might prove it to our 
Duchess. 

Beatrice. And Orvieto? 

Duke {yawning). I've forgotten now why 
I did not give him Orvieto, according to the 
wording of our contract. Perhaps I was not in- 
clined to do it. {Goes to the Duchess.) Yes, 
look around you ; here you are alone. It is many 
a dusty mile to France, and even there your fa- 
ther has at his court only a hundred beggarly 
knights. Do you still hope? Which of these 
gentlemen, the noble cavaliers of Padua, is loyal 
to you? 

Beatrice. Not one. {Gtiido starts, but con- 
trols himself.) 

Duke. Nor will be, so long as I am Duke of 
Padua. Hear me : IVe had enough of your gra- 
cious manners. You are my property; you will 
do what I command. If I choose to keep you 
in the house, this palace here will be your prison, 
and if I choose that you shall go out, from morn- 
ing till night you will be in the open air. 

Beatrice. By what right? 

Duke. The second Duchess once asked me 
that same question. You will see her monument 
in the Church of St. Bartholomew, carved in red 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 37 

marble — very beautiful ! Give me your arm, 
Guido ! Gentlemen, let us cast the falcons for 
their noonday flight. Consider, you are alone 
here, noble lady {Exit Duke, leaning on Guido, 
with his train.) 

Beatrice (looking after them). Strange that 
one apparently blameless loves the Duke, hangs 
on his lips, which cruelly poison every word, 
and never leaves him, as if he belonged to 
him. What does it mean? I cannot understand 
it. I stand alone, inaccessible to love. The Duke 
says truly that I am alone, forsaken and dishon- 
ored, and calumniated. Was ever any woman so 
utterly alone as I? The wooer calls us pretty 
children, says we are not capable of moulding 
our lives, so he destroys them for us. Did I say 
"wooers"? We are their property, their slaves, 
less petted than the dog which licks them, the 
falcon on their wrists. Did I say "wooers"? 
No, sold, bartered, for our very bodies are wares 
to them. I know it is the usual lot of woman. 
Her life, yoked to an unloved husband, is shat- 
tered by his selfishness ; and that it is usual makes 
it no less bitter. It seems to me I never heard a 
w^oman laugh, laugh from pure mirthfulness — 
except one. That was at night in the public 
street — poor soul. She had painted lips ; she 
wore the mask of pleasure over her anguish, and 



38 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

laughed. I would not wish to laugh as she did. 
Death would be better. (Guido enters at back 
of stage unnoticed; the Duchess throzvs herself 
dozvn before an image of the Madonna.) Mary, 
with the sweet, pale face, surrounded by the lit- 
tle angel heads that hover about thee, knowest 
thou no help for me ? Oh, Mother of God, know- 
est thou no help ? 

Guido. No, I can bear it no longer. I will 
speak to her, to my love. Lady, am I included 
in your prayer? 

Beatrice (rising). Only the wretched need 
my prayers. 

Guido. Then in truth I need them. 

Beatrice. Why? Does not the Duke show 
you honor enough? Do you lack advancement 
at court? It is not in my power to give it to 
you. I have no influence here. 

Guido. I do not lack favor from the Duke, 
Your Grace, whom my soul hates as it does 
corruption. I come upon my knees to offer you 
the most loyal services unto death. 

Beatrice. Alas ! I have fallen so low in 
rank that I can reward you only with niggardly 
thanks. 

Guido (seising her hand). Not with love? 
(The Duchess starts back; Guido falls at her 
feet.) Oh, dear saint, forgive me; I have been 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 39 

too bold. Your charms fire my young blood. 
When my lips humbly touch your hand every 
nerve quivers so wildly with passion that, to gain 
your love, I would fear nothing. (Starts up.) 
Command me to set forth and win fame from 
the lion's jaws. I would struggle with the Ne- 
msean monster in the desert sands ! Cast into 
the gulf of war a ribbon, a flower, a bit of tinsel, 
anything which has once touched you; I will 
bring it back unharmed from conflict with all 
the armies of Christendom. Nay, more than 
that, bid me climb the white clififs of mighty Eng- 
land, and from her insolent shield efface the 
lilies of your France, which England, that lioness 
of the sea, has wrested from her. Oh, dear Be- 
atrice, drive me not away, for the minutes crawl 
on leaden feet without you; but when I gaze at 
your loveliness the hours fly like winged Mer- 
curies, and the world shines in golden radiance. 

Beatrice. I did not think I should ever be 
loved. Do you really love me as infinitely as you 
now protest? 

GuiDO. Ask the seagull whether it loves the 
waves ; ask the roses whether they love the rain ; 
ask the lark that will not sing before the dawn 
whether it loves the day — and yet these are but 
empty images, mere shadows of my love, which 



40 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

is a fire that all the waters of the ocean would 
not suffice to quench. Speak but one word ! 

Beatrice. I scarcely know what I ought to 
say to you. 

GuiDO. Then say that you love me ! 

Beatrice. Is that the regulation? And must 
it be said at once? It would be well, if I did 
really love you; but if not, what shall I say to 
you then? 

GuiDO. If you do not love me, still say you 
do, for on your tongue the lie would shame the 
truth. 

Beatrice. And if I remain perfectly silent? 
Lovers, they say, are happiest when they doubt. 

GuiDO. No, doubt would kill me, and if die I 
must, let me die of joy, not of doubt. Oh, tell 
me, may I stay ? Must I go ? 

Beatrice. I would rather have you neither 
stay nor go. For if you stay, you'll steal my 
love from me, and if you go, you will take it 
with you. If all the morning stars could sing, 
they could not tell the measure of my love. 
Guido, I love you. 

GuiDO (with outstretched arms). Oh, do not 
stop! I thought the nightingale sang only at 
night; yet if you must be silent, let my lips find 
yours, which sound so sweet. 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 4I 

Beatrice. My lips will not give you my 
heart. 

GuiDO. Do you shut me out from it? 

Beatrice. Oh, my master, it is mine no 
longer; the first day that I saw you I suffered 
you to steal it; a thief against my will, whom 
you brought recklessly into my walled treasure- 
house, and purloined my jewel ! Strange rob- 
bery, w^hich enriched you, without your knowing 
it, and left me poorer, and yet full of joy. 

GuiDO (clasping her in his anus). Oh, love, 
love ! Do not hide your face so ! Let me open 
the little scarlet doors which closed in music, dive 
for corals, and I will bring up a richer prize than 
all the gold the griffin guards in the Armenian 
wilderness. 

Beatrice. You are my master, Guido. What 
I possess is yours ; what I do not is lavishly be- 
stowed by your imagination, which thus barters 
its treasures for baubles. (Kisses him.) 

GuiDO. How bold I seem to myself when I 
thus look at you. The lovely violet hides beneath 
its leaves and fears to gaze at the great sun in 
dread of so much radiance ; but my eyes, pre- 
sumptuous eyes ! have grown so daring that, 
like fixed stars, they steadfastly gaze at you, riot- 
ing in beauty. 

Beatrice. Dearest, would that you could look 



42 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

at me forever! Your eyes are shining mir- 
rors ; when I gaze into them I can see myself, 
and know my image Hves in you. 

GuiDO (taking her in his arms). Stand still 
on high, ye flying celestial bodies; perpetuate 
this hour! {Pause.) 

Beatrice. Sit a little lower, just so, that my 
fingers may stray through your hair, that your 
face may lift itself like a flower to meet my 
kiss. Have you noticed that when a long closed 
room, loaded with dust and full of mould, which 
no human foot has entered for years, is opened, 
the rusty window bars taken down, and the 
broken blinds flung far back that sunlight may 
pour in, how the sun transforms every sooty 
particle of dust into myriads of dancing specks of 
gold? My heart was like that long empty room 
until love illumined it and invested everything 
with its gold. Does it not seem to you that love 
is life's very essence? 

GuiDO. Yes; without love life is merely an 
unhewn block lying in the quarry, before the 
artist has waked the god within it. Without 
love, life is as silent as the common reed that 
grows in marshes and beside the rivers, and con- 
tains no music. 

Beatrice. Yet some day the singer. Love, will 
cut from it a pipe from which he will lure music ; 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 43 

SO love conjures melody from every life. Is not 
that true? 

GuiDO. Women make it true. Men w^ork 
with brush and pencil. The dyer's son, Paolo 
Veronese, your great rival in Venice, who creat- 
ed God's lily white and slender maid ascending 
the temple stairs, and Raphael, who painted di- 
vine Madonnas, because they are all mother — 
and yet, women are the greatest artists on this 
earth ; they model the life of men, stained by the 
money-seeking greed of our times, and make it 
beautiful through love. 

Beatrice. Ah, Guido, I wish that we were 
poor; the poor who love each other are so rich. 

GuiDO. Say once more that you love me, 
Beatrice. 

Beatrice (slipping her Angers through his 
collar). How the collar nestles to your neck! 
(Count Moransone looks through the door from 
the outer colonnade.) 
. GuiDO. No ; tell me that you love me. 

Beatrice (playfully). The King of France 
was an illustrious hero, yet he was not so royal as 
you. Why must I confess my love? (She takes 
his head between her hands and lifts his face to- 
ward hers.) You know that I am yours forever, 
body and soul. (She kisses him, suddenly sees 



44 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

Moranzone, and starts up.) Ha, what is that? 
(Moransone disappears.) 

GuiDO. What, dearest? 

Beatrice. I thought I saw fiery eyes watch- 
ing us through the doorway. 

GuiDO. No, it was nothing, only the sentinel's 
shadow gliding past. {The Duchess still gases 
at the windozv.) It was nothing, my love. 

Beatrice. What can assail us now, when we 
are under love's protection? I should not care 
though the world and its lackey, calumny, should 
trample and crush my life. They say the com- 
mon field flowers give out sweeter fragrance 
when they are crushed than when they bloom, 
and many a weed, usually scentless, diffuses in 
death, when it is ground to powder, the perfume 
of Araby. So fares the young life whom daily 
routine seeks to crush ; it presses out all its sweet- 
ness and often increases its charm. So long as 
we love, we possess life's crown. Is it not so? 

GuiDO. Come, let us play and sing ! I feel 
as if I could sing now. 

Beatrice. Hush 1 There are times when it 
seems as if all life were narrowed to a single 
rapture of bliss, and fervor sets a seal upon the 
lips. 

GuiDO. Let my lips break this seal! Do you 
love me, Beatrice? 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 45 

Beatrice. Is it not strange that I should 
thus love my foe? 
f GuiDo. Whom ? 

Beatrice. You, who with your shaft have 
pierced my heart! This poor heart, which lived 
only for itself until your arrow reached it. 

GuiDO. Oh, Beatrice, I am myself so wounded 
by this shaft that, if uncared for, it will be my 
death unless, beloved leech, you will heal me. 

Beatrice. I cannot give you health, for I am 
suffering from the same disease. 

GuiDO. Oh, how I love you ! I must steal the 
cuckoo's voice, and always sing the same note. 

Beatrice. Sing no other ! If this is the 
cuckoo's note, the nightingale is hoarse and the 
lark's trill has lost its melody. 

GuiDO. Kiss me, Beatrice. (She takes his 
face between her hands, stoops and kisses it. 
Just at that moment some one knocks loudly at 
the door. Giiido starts up. A servant enters.) 

Servant. A little package for you, my lord. 

GuiDO {carelessly). Give it to me! {The 
servant hands him a small packet wrapped in 
scarlet silk, and goes out. As Guido is in the act 
of opening it the Duchess steals behind him and 
jestingly takes it away.) 

Beatrice {laughing). What will you wager 
that it comes from a girl ? She would like to see 



46 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

you in her colors. I will not grant her the 
smallest share in you. No, like a miser, I will 
have you wholly, even though I thereby spoil 
you. 

GuiDO. It is nothing. 

Beatrice {turns away and opens it). Traitor, 
now tell me what this means. A dagger — two 
steel leopards on it. 

GuiDo {takes the dagger away from her). Oh, 
God! 

Beatrice. I'll look out of the window. Per- 
haps I shall recognize by his coat of arms the 
messenger who gave it to the porter. I will not 
rest until I know your secret. {Runs laughing 
out into the colonnade.) 

GuiDO. Horrible ! Have I so quickly forgot- 
ten my father's death? Did I let love enter my 
heart so swiftly that I must now banish it and 
admit murder, shaking the door so savagely? I 
must! Have I not taken an oath? But not to- 
night. No, it must be to-day. Farewell, then, 
joy and light of life; farewell, memory of all 
things lovely; farewell, beloved! Can I, with 
bloodstained hands, stroke and caress her inno- 
cent ones ? Can lips still wet from the assassina- 
tion press kisses upon hers? Can a murderer's 
eyes gaze into her violet ones, which would strike 
me with blindness, so that henceforth I should 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 47 

languish in eternal night? No. Murder has 
placed a barrier between us too high to exchange 
kisses. 

Beatrice. Guido ! 

GuiDO. Beatrice, forget, forget the name; 
erase it forever from your life ! 

Beatrice {approaching him). Dearest! 

GuiDO (shrinking back). A barrier which we 
dare not pass towers between us. 

Beatrice. I will dare all things, if you are 
only with me. 

GuiDO. Ah, that is it ! I cannot be with you ; 
can no longer breathe the same air, or gaze upon 
your beauty; it will unnerve my wavering heart 
and make the feeble hand miss its mark. Let 
me go, I beseech you ; forget you have ever seen 
me! 

Beatrice. What! With your burning kisses 
on my lips, forget the vows of love which you 
have uttered? 

GuiDO. I will take them back. 

Beatrice. You cannot, Guido. They are a 
part of the elements. The air thrills with their 
harmony, and the bird's song sounds sweeter for 
those vows. 

GuiDO. A barrier now towers between us, a 
barrier which before was forgotten or unknown. 

Beatrice. No, no barrier, Guido. I will fol- 



48 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

low you in the most wretched garb to the world's 
end. 

GuiDO (wildly). It is not large enough to hold 
us both. Farewell forever ! 

Beatrice (quietly, with repressed passion). 
Why did you force yourself into my life? Why 
did you sow in the desert of my heart the white 
blossom of love ? 

GuiDO. Beatrice ! 

Beatrice. Now you would fain uproot it, but 
every fiber holds my heart so firmly that if you 
break one my heart will break with it. Why 
did you come into my life? Why did you un- 
cover the secret fountain of my love, which has 
so long been choked ? Why ? 

GuiDO. Oh, God! 

Beatrice (wringing her hands). Why did 
you let your ardor burst all sluices till, as the 
river's waves overflow the fields and sweep along 
the forests, love, with the exulting power of the 
avalanche, tore my life with it? Must I gather 
up that water again, drop by drop? Alas, each 
drop will change into a tear, embittering my life 
with its salt. 

GuiDO. Say nothing more, I implore you, 
for I must go out of your life to seek a way which 
is denied to you. 

Beatrice. I have heard that shipwrecked 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 49 

sailors dying of thirst upon a raft, drifting in 
misery on the open sea, dream of green meadows 
and placid streams, then, with parched throats, 
awake and perish the more pitiably because sleep 
thus deceived them. So they die, cursing the 
sleep which deluded them in dreams. I do not 
curse you, though I, too, was suffering ship- 
wreck on the sea which men call melancholy. 
GuiDO. God! Oh, God! 
Beatrice. Oh, stay, Guido! Listen! I love 
you. (A short pause.) Does no echo, when I 
say I love you, come back to me ? Is it dead ? 

GuiDO. All is dead except one thing, and that 
will die to-night. 

Beatrice. Then I must train my lips to say 
farewell ; and yet it seems to me as if they would 
not learn, for when I shape them to utter it the 
only sound is, I love you. Must I scold them? 
Can one lip scold the other? Alas, they are both 
guilty and refuse me this word ! 

GuiDO. Then I must say it for them. Fare- 
well; we can never see each other again. (Rushes 
toward her.) 

Beatrice. Go ! Do not touch me — go, I tell 
you! (Exit Guido.) Never again — was it so? 
Never meet again? I know my duty. I will 
change the torch of love into the funeral flam- 
beau, lay down the wreath of love upon my bier. 



50 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

transform love's song into a dirge, and die sing- 
ing, like the swan. Oh, sorrow, if thou art so en- 
raptured by my life, why didst thou not choose 
another form? The mask of pain, and not the 
smile of love, the raven's voice, and not the night- 
ingale's, the mole's blind eyes, not those like the 
summer sky, so deeply blue that we might fancy 
we saw God in them — then, sorrow, then I should 
have recognized thee. Why in the world did he 
speak of a barrier ? No, no barrier rises between 
us. He lied, and therefore I must henceforth 
shun what I loved, hate what I idolized. We 
women do not love in such a way ; for, though I 
cut his image from my heart, that heart, like a 
pilgrim, would follow, bleeding, his image 
through the world, and call it back with a low 
cry of love. (The Duke enters in hunting cos- 
tume, with hazvks and hounds,) 

Duke. You are keeping us and our dogs 
waiting. 

Beatrice. I shall not ride to-day. 

Duke. What's that? 

Beatrice. I cannot go, my husband. 

Duke. What, Milk- Face, dare you defy me? 
I could have you tied on a nag and baited 
through the streets until the people — you fed 
them — waved their hats and jeered at you. 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA $1 

Beatrice. Will you never have one kind word 
for me? 

Duke. We use kind words to trap our foes. 
I hold you in the hollow of my hand. Why 
need I squander flattering phrases? 

Beatrice. Then I will come. 

Duke (lashing his boots with his riding whip). 
1 have changed my mind. You will stay at home 
and, like a faithful wife, watch from the window 
for my return. Would it not be terrible if any 
accident should chance to befall your beloved 
husband? Come, gentlemen, the hounds are 
growing fierce, and so am I — with such a patient 
wife. Where is young Guido? 

Maffio. My lord, I have not seen him for at 
least an hour. 

Duke. No matter; I'll see him soon enough. 
You, madame, will remain at home and spin. 
My word for it, the domestic virtues are often 
very praiseworthy — in other people. (Exit Duke 
with his train.) 

Beatrice. The stars are hostile to me, that 
is the whole matter. So to-night, when my hus- 
band is asleep, I'll use my dagger and thus end 
all. My heart is like a stone which nothing will 
mark except the dagger's edge. Let him find 
there the name which it hides. To-night death 
shall part me from the Duke; but he, too, the 



52 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

old mail, iiidy die lo-ddy. \\ hy no: ; Yesterday 
his hand \\-as paralyzed. Men have often died 
from paralysis. Why not he, too? Is there not 
fever, and ague, and chills, such as usually at- 
tack old age? Xo, no, he will not die; he is too 
wicked. The honorable die before their time. 
The good die — beside whom he, in the horrible 
stains upon his hfe, is a leper. Women and chil- 
dren die; the Duke does not, because he is too 
wicked. Can it be possible that vice has a sort of 
immortaUty unknown to virtue? Can the in- 
famous man thrive in what is the death of other 
human beings, like poisonous plants which hve on 
rottenness? Xo, no; God would never permit 
tliat- Yet my husband does not die; he is too 
wicked. So I alone will die to-night. Grim 
death will then my brid^^room be, the grave my 
secret chamber of joy. The world is a chiuch- 
^-ard, and each one bears a skeletCHi within as a 
coffin. {Count Moransone enters, clad wholly 
tH black; he crosses the back of the stage, look- 
ing OHxioysly around him.) 

MoRAXZOXEL Guido! Where is he? I can 
find him nowhere. 

Beatrice {perceking him). Oh, God, it was 
you who took my lover away fnxn me. 

MoRAXZoxE {uith sparkling eyes). What, has 
he deserted you ? 



Act II] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 53 

Beatrice. You know it! Give him back to 
me ; oh, give him back to me, or I will have your 
body torn limb from limb, and your head nailed 
to the pillory until the vultures have stripped it. 
You had better have crossed the path of the 
lioness than to have come between the man I love 
and me. {With increasing passion.) Give him 
back to me. You do not know how I love him. 
Just now he was kneeling beside this chair; 
here he stood, there he gazed at me and kissed 
this hand, plundered these lips with his, and into 
the wide open portals of these ears dropped a 
song of love, so full of yearning that the birds 
around were silent. Give him back to me ! 

MoRANZONE. He does not love you. 

Beatrice. May the plague wither your tongue 
which speaks so ! Give him back to me ! 

Moranzone. You will never see him again, 
lady ; neither to-night nor any other night. 

Beatrice. What is your name ? 

Moranzone. My name? Vengeance! {Exit.) 

Beatrice. Vengeance ! I never harmed even 
a little child. What does vengeance seek at my 
door? No matter, death is already standing 
there, waiting to light my pathway with his 
gloomy torch. 'Tis true men hate you, death, but 
to me you will be fairer than my lover. So send 
your messengers at once; urge on the laggard 



54 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act II 

steeds of lingering day, and bid thy sister, night, 
draw near. Muffle the world in black, and bid 
thy priest, the owl, hoot from his tower, the 
toads croak, and the bat, the slave of mournful 
Persephone, whirr through the darkness on wa- 
vering wings. Uproot the shrieking mandrakes, 
that they may play for us the measures of the 
dance, and bid the mole to hollow deep the cold 
and narrow couch, for I shall sleep within thine 
arms to-night. 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 55 



ACT III. 

A wide corridor in the Duke's palace, /It the 
left a view of Padua in the moonlight. At the 
right a staircase leads to a door, before which 
hangs a crimson velvet portiere, on which the 
ducal coat of arms is embroidered in gold. On 
the lowest step of the stairs sits a black-robed 
figure. The passage is lighted by an iron pan in 
which tow is burning. Lightning and thunder, 
(Guido climbs in through the zvindow.) 

GuiDO. The storm is rising. How my ladder 
trembled ! At every gust I thought the ropes 
would tear! (Looks back at the city.) Omnipo- 
tent God, what a night ! In the heavens the roar 
of thunder and sharp flashes of lightning, which 
dart through the city from spire to spire so that 
the houses shake and seem to shudder, when an- 
other flash quivers along the streets. (He crosses 
the stage to the foot of the stairs.) Ha! Who 
are you, watching on these steps like death for a 
guilty soul? (Pause.) Are you mute? Has 
this storm paralyzed your tongue and frozen 



56 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

your speech? Begone, for I have something to 
do in yonder room which no one can do for me. 
(The figure rises and removes the mask,) 

MoRANZONE. Guido Ferranti ! Your dead fa- 
ther is rejoicing to-night. 

Guido (bewildered). What, 3'ou are here! 

MoRANZONE. I was waiting for your arrival. 

Guido (looking away from him). I did not 
expect you, but I am glad that I can tell you my 
purpose. 

MoRANZONE. First, learn my plans ! Listen ! 
Horses are already waiting at the gate leading 
to Parma. When you have performed your office 
we will ride hence. To-morrow night, if our 
horses hold out well, we shall be in Parma. There 
the old friends of your great father, the friends 
who long ago stirred up the insurrection among 
the citizens, are informed. By money and prom- 
ises I have won over to us many who are still 
courtiers of the usurping Duke. Once he is dead, 
the soldiers can soon be brought to rebellion, and 
you will then ascend your father's throne as 
Parma's rightful lord. 

Guido. It cannot, cannot be. 

MoRANZONE. It shall! 

Guido. Now hear me, Count Moranzone. I 
have determined not to kill the Duke. 

MoRANZONE. Say that again ! My ear has be- 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 57 

fooled me; age has dulled my hearing. I shall 
soon be an old man. What did you say? With 
the dagger in your belt you would revenge your 
father's bloody murder. That is what you said? 

GuiDO. No, my lord. I said I had determined 
not to kill the Duke. 

MoRANZONE. Impossible ! IMy senses cheat 
me, or the midnight tempest changes your mean- 
ing while you speak. 

GuiDO. You heard aright. I will not kill the 
man. 

MoRANZONE. And what, traitor, of your oath ? 

GuiDO. . I have resolved to break this oath ! 

MoRANZONE. And what of your father's mur- 
der? 

GuiDO. Do you think my father would rejoice 
to see the old man's smoking blood upon my 
hands ? 

MoRANZONE. Yes, he would laugh with joy. 

GuiDO. Not so. The other w^orld has better 
knowledge ; vengeance is God's ; leave it to God. 

MoRANZONE. You are the tool of God's ven- 
geance. 

GuiDO. No! God has no tool save His own 
hand. I will not kill the man. 

MoRANZONE. If you will not, why are you 
here? 

GuiDO. Count Moranzone, I will make my 



58 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

way into the Duke's chamber, lay on the sleeper's 
breast this dagger and this paper. When he 
wakes he'll learn in whose hands he was, who 
spared him. That is the noblest vengeance for 
me. 

MoRANZONE. You will uot kill him? 

GuiDO. No ! 

MoRANZONE. Ignoble scion of the noblest fa- 
ther, to grant even one hour longer to the man 
who sold him. 

GuiDO. You prevented me, or I would have 
killed him in the open market-place the day I saw 
him. 

MoRANZONE. Then the time had not come ; 
now it has, and, like a girl, you prate of mercy. 

GuiDO. No, of the just vengeance which betits 
my father's son. 

MoRANZONE. Unhappy father, betrayed a sec- 
ond time by your own son ! You are a coward, 
else draw your blade, burst into the Duke's room, 
and bring me back his heart upon the sword. 
When he is dead you can talk with me of noble 
vengeance. 

GuiDO. Hear me! By your honor, by your 
love for my father's name, do you believe my 
father, that great noble, the brave hero, the 
knightly warrior, would like a thief have stolen in 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 59 

at night and stabbed an old man in his bed, even 
though he had been his worst enemy ? Speak ! 

MoRANZONE {after a little delay). You took 
an oath ; you must perform it ! Do you think I 
do not know your secret, the affair with the 
Duchess ? 

GuiDO. Stop, you Har ! The moon herself is 
not so chaste, the stars are not so pure. 

MoRANZONE. And yet you love her, you weak 
fool. 

GuiDO. Yes, it is easy for you to talk. Youth 
does not surge hotly in your veins, old man. 
Your bleared eye has barred its black-draped 
doors against beauty ; your ear, dulled and robbed 
of its former keenness, is closed to this world's 
music. You talk of love, and know not what 
it is. 

MoRANZONE. I, too, my boy, have wandered 
in the moon, vowed to die of longing, and did not 
die. I, too, by instinct have boldly rhymed love 
in bad verses to zithers out of tune, as lovers do. 
I know the intrigues, the wild joy of the revel 
and the camp. At heart we are all animals — love 
is but the flame of sensuality with a sacred name. 

GuiDO. Now I know that you have no knowl- 
edge of love. Love is the sacrament of life ; it 
conjures virtue out of an empty void and purifies 
us from all the base refuse of this world. It is 



60 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

the fire which frees gold from dross, the paddle 
which winnows the chaff from the wheat, the 
spring which calls the rosebuds of innocence from 
the frozen earth. God henceforth does not walk 
with man. His image, Love, goes in His place. 
The man who loves a woman knows the secret 
of the Creator and the world. There is no hut so 
mean and miserable that, if the dwellers' hearts 
are pure, love shuns it; but if cruel murder 
knocks at the palace gate and finds admission, 
then wounded love creeps away and dies. This 
is God's punishment for sin. The wicked cannot 
love. (Groans are heard from the Duke's sleep- 
ing chamber.) What is that? Did you hear it? 

MoRANZONE. It was nothing. 

GuiDO. I believe woman's mission is to save 
men's souls by the power of love. Love for my 
Beatrice taught me to see a more majestic, holier 
vengeance in sparing the Duke than in a deed 
of blood at night, in sinister murder, when the 
strong hands of youth slay an old man. Was it 
not for love's sake that Christ, who Himself was 
Love incarnate, admonished men to forgive their 
enemies ? 

MoRANZONE {scornfully) . That was in Pales- 
tine, not in Padua — meant for saints. I side 
with men. 

GuiDo. It is for every age. 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 6l 

MoRANZONE. In what does the Duchess' grati- 
tude consist? Will she press her cheek to yours 
and caress you because she can torment her hus- 
band longer? 

GuiDO. Alas, I shall never see her face again ! 
Scarcely twelve hours ago I bade her farewell 
so abruptly, with such furious passion, that she 
has now shut her heart against me. No, I shall 
never see her more ! 

MoRANZONE. What do you mean to do? 

GuiDO. When I have laid the dagger in its 
place, I shall leave Padua to-night. 

MoRANZONE. And then? 

GuiDO. I will report to the Doge in Venice 
that he may quickly send me to the war against 
the Pagans in the Holy Land ; there, since life is 
now a burden to me, I will throw myself madly 
against a spear. (Renewed groans from the 
Duke's sleeping room.) Don't you hear some 
one cry out? 

MoRANZONE. I always hear a voice from the 
dim precincts of the grave crying for vengeance. 
We waste time ; dawn is approaching. Have 
you resolved not to kill the Duke? 

GuiDO. I have. 

MoRANZONE. Guido Ferranti, in yonder room 
lies the man who once sold your father and de- 
livered him to the hands of the executioner. 



62 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

There he sleeps ; you have your father's dagger. 
Will you not kill him ? 

GuiDo. I will not. 

MoRANZONE. Unhappy father, you will remain 
unavenged. 

GuiDO. Your son would be still more unhappy 
as a murderer. 

MoRANZONE. Bah ! What is life ? 

GuiDO. My lord, I do not know. I did not 
give it ; I dare not take it. 

MoRANZONE. I have not often thanked God 
as I do now because He gave me no son ! What 
bastard blood flows in your veins that, when you 
have your enemy in your power, you let him es- 
cape? I wish you had remained where you 
were. 

GuiDO. Perhaps that might have been better. 
Perhaps it would have been best of all if I had 
never beheld this world of woe. 

MoRANZONE. Farewell ! 

GuiDO. Farewell, Count Moranzone. Some 
day the meaning of my vengeance will be clear 
to you. 

MoRANZONE. Never. {Exit through the win- 
dow down the rope ladder.) 

GuiDO. You, father, know my purpose, and 
are contented with the nobler vengeance. In giv- 
ing this man life I believe I am doing as you 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 63 

would have done. I know not, father, whether 
human voices can burst the iron walls of death, 
whether the dead remain without tidings of what 
we do and leave undone for their sakes. And 
yet I feel a presence, as if a shadow stood beside 
me, and apparently ghostly kisses touched my 
lips and left them hallowed. (Kneels.) Oh, fa- 
ther, can you not break death's prison and show 
3^ourself to me in bodily form, that I may clasp 
your hand? No, it is nothing. (Rises.) It is the 
spirits of the night which fool us, make us be- 
lieve, like a conjurer, that things have substance 
which do not exist. It is growing late. I must 
go now to my work. (Drazus a letter from his 
doublet and reads it.) When he wakes and sees 
this letter, with the dagger beside it, will he not 
be seized with loathing of his life ? Will he per- 
haps repent and meditate? Or will he jeer be- 
cause a youth spared him, his foe? I care not. 
It is your charge, father, I fulfil, your command, 
and the command of my love, which taught me 
to know you as you are. (Steals up the steps; 
just as he stretches out his hand to draw back 
the portiere, the Duchess, dressed entirely in 
white, confronts him. Giiido starts back.) Be- 
atrice ! 

Beatrice. Guido, is it you — so late ? 

GuiDO. You stainless angel of my life, surely 



64 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

you come from God with a message that it is 
nobler to practice mercy than vengeance. 

Beatrice. I fervently implore you for mercy. 

GuiDO. Oh, father, now I understand your 
charge, for hand in hand with mercy appeared in 
my path love, like a god. 

Beatrice. I thought you would return, al- 
though you cruelly deserted me. Why did you 
do it? I will not chide, for now I can clasp you, 
feel your heart beat with a timid pulse of love 
against my own. We are a pair of caged birds, 
which kiss each other through the bars. Time 
is passing; morning will be here in an hour. 
Get horses for the journey to Venice; they will 
not expect to find me there. 

GuiDO. I will go with you to the world's end, 
dearest. 

Beatrice. And you really love me? 

GuiDO. Does the lark love the gray dawn 
which wakes his music? 

Beatrice. Can nothing change you? 

GuiDO. Nothing in this world. The needle 
of the sailor's compass does not point so surely as 
I toward the magnet of your love. 

Beatrice. Does no barrier longer rise be- 
tween us? 

GuiDO. Not now, or m the future. 

Beatrice. This is viy work. 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 65 

GuiDO. Mine awaits me here. 

Beatrice. Are you going to leave me — desert 
me again as before ? 

GuiDO. I will return in a moment. First, I 
must hasten into the Duke's rooms and leave this 
letter there beside this dagger, that when he 
wakes 

Beatrice. Who wakes? 

GuiDO. The Duke. 

Beatrice. He will never wake again. 

GuiDO. Is he dead? 

Beatrice. Yes, he is dead. 

GuiDO. O God, how wonderful are Thy ways ! 
Could I ever have thought Thou wouldst this 
very night, when I had confided to Thy hands 
the vengeance that is Thine, touch this man with 
Thy finger and summon him before Thy judg- 
ment seat? 

Beatrice. I have just stabbed him 

GuiBo (in horror) . Oh! 

Beatrice. In his sleep. Come nearer, dear- 
est, that I may tell you. Before I begin, kiss me 
upon the lips. You will not kiss me now ? Well, 
you will when you learn how I killed him. After 
you had left me in enmity, I felt that life was 
worthless without your love. I had resolved to 
kill myself to-night. About an hour ago I woke, 
drew from beneath our pillows my dagger, 



66 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [^Ct III 

where I had hidden it with this design, un- 
sheathed it and tried its edge, and thought of you, 
whom I so dearly loved. It was already directed 
toward me, when I saw the old man, rich in years 
as he was in sin. There he lay, still muttering 
curses in his sleep. At the sight of the horrible 
face a thought suddenly darted like lightning 
through my brain : this is the barrier of which 
Guido spoke — whom else could he have meant 
by this barrier except him ? What happened then 
I scarcely know. Only one thing, that between 
him and me a smoking, bloody mist arose. 

Guido. Horrible ! 

Beatrice. So you might have called the spec- 
tacle. Then blood rained; then he groaned, and 
then the moaning ceased. I heard only the blood 
dripping on the floor. 

Guido. Enough ! Enough ! 

Beatrice. Will you not kiss me now? Do 
you not remember your own words : woman's love 
makes angels of us men? Well, men's love 
makes women sufferers, who for their sakes bear 
all things. 

Guido. God ! 

Beatrice. You do not say a word? 

Guido. Words die upon my lips. 

Beatrice. The Duke was killed with this 
steel. I did not think that he would bleed so 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA dj 

much. Hands may be washed with water — 
hands, is not that so ? But my soul ? Enough of 
this ! Let us go away ! Has not the barrier be- 
tween us fallen? What do you want more? 
Come, morning is approaching. {Lays her hand 
on Giiido's.) 

GuiDO {shrinking from her). Accursed saint! 
Angel from hell ! What murderous devil insti- 
gated you? That you killed your husband is 
nothing. Hell was already yawning for his soul ; 
but with him you have murdered love, and where 
it was is now a bloody spot, exhaling the foul 
vapors of disease and pestilence, and strangling 
love. 

Beatrice {as if seized with astonishment). Yet 
surely I did it for you. Had you desired to do 
this deed I would not have permitted it. You 
must be without stain or blot, untouched, blame- 
less, unsullied. Man knows not what woman 
does for love. Have I not forever ruined my soul 
for you ? Be kind to me ; I did it for your sake. 

GuiDO. Do not touch me ; a thin stream of 
blood is flowing here between us, which no 
bridge can span. When you stabbed your hus- 
band, you struck love to the heart. We shall 
never see each other more. 

Beatrice {wringing her hands). For you! 
For you! I did it for you; do you forget that? 



68 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

You Spoke of a barrier between us ; the barrier 
now lies above in yonder room, fallen, destroyed, 
ruined and shattered — it will no longer part us. 

GuiDO. You misunderstood me. Sin was the 
barrier, and you have planted it; crime was the 
barrier; the barrier was murder, and your hand 
has built it so high that it shuts out Heaven and 
God. 

Beatrice. I did it for you; you must not 
abandon me. Guido, listen! Secure horses; let 
us fly to-night. The past is — like an evil dream — 
forgotten. The future beckons us ; shall we not 
go forth to sweet days of love upon the meadows ? 
We will laugh, no, but if we weep we shall weep 
together. I will serve you like a poor woman, 
like a maid-servant. I will be modest and full of 
humility ; you do not know me. 

Guido. Yes, yes ; I know you now. Go, I tell 
you ; go out of my sight ! 

Beatrice (pacing to and fro). God, how I 
have loved this man ! 

Guido. Never! Else love would have stayed 
your arm when you sullied its sanctuary, which 
innocence alone is fit to enter. 

Beatrice. These are only words, words, 
words. 

Guido. Go ! How could we share love's ban- 
quet? You would pour poison in the conse- 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 69 

crated wine, murder would dip its finger in the 
dish. I would rather have suffered a thousand 
deaths. 

Beatrice. I have suffered a thousand deaths 
since I did it. 

GuiDO. It is Mfe, not death, you have to fear. 

Beatrice (throzving herself on her knees). 
Then kill me ! I have shed blood, shed more, and 
Heaven or hell will greet us united. Draw your 
sword and quickly settle the account with death, 
already licking his lips for this food. Quick, let 
your sword rest in my heart; it wull find there 
only its master's image. But if you wall not slay 
me with your sword, then bid me fall upon this 
smoking knife, I'll do it. 

GuiDO {wresting the knife from her). Give it 
to me, give it ! Oh, God, even your hand is wet 
with blood. Hell is here. I can stay no longer. 

Beatrice. Will you not raise me, or must I 
drag myself, like a beggar, on my knees ? 

GuiDO. Let me never see your face again ! 

Beatrice. How happy it would have been for 
me, if I had never seen you ! Remember, I did 
it for your sake. (Guido shrinks back; still 
kneeling she clasps his hands.) No, Guido, listen 
to me a little time ! Before you came to Padua, 
I led a pitiable life, but without thought of mur- 
der, subject to my husband's cruelty, obedient to 



70 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

his unjust desires, as pure as any maid of noble 
blood, who now would turn away from me with 
a shudder. Then you came, Guido, and from 
your lips I heard the first kind words since I left 
my loved France. What matters that? You 
came, and in your eyes I read love's meaning, 
every word of yours sounded like music in my 
dulled soul. You were as radiant as the St. 
Michael in Santa Croce, where I go to pray. 
Shall I ever again go there to pray? In your 
young face shone the brightness of the morning. 
So I loved you, and yet concealed my love. 
You wooed me, you knelt before me, as I am 
now kneeling at your feet. With sweet vows 
— they still echo in my ears — you swore to love 
me; I trusted you. I thought many women in 
the world, had they been wedded to this monster, 
chained to him as the galley slaves are fettered 
to lepers — many women would have approached 
you as temptresses. I did not do that. I know, 
if I had done it, I should not have lain in the dust 
before you; you would have loved me eternally. 
(Approaches him timidly after a pause.) Whether 
you understand me now — I do not know, Guido, 
for you I committed the crime which freezes my 
young blood to ice, for you alone. (Extending 
her arms.) Will you not speak to me? Love me 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 7I 

a little ; alas ! my youth has so lacked love, and 
longed for kindness. 

GuiDO. I dare not look at you. What you de- 
sire is too shameful. Begone to your waiting 
women ! 

Beatrice. Ha! ha! So speaks a man! If 
you had come to me with a guilt-laden soul, a 
murder, which you had committed not for love, 
but pay, I would have sat beside your couch and 
w^atched all night, that remorse might not drop 
her venom in your ears and banish sleep. Surely, 
the criminal in his torture deserves the most love. 

GuiDO. Where guilt is, love has nothing to 
seek. 

Beatrice. Where guilt is, love must not be. 
Oh, God I How different is woman's love from 
man's ! Many a wife lives here in Padua, toiling 
and moiling at heavy labor; her husband squan- 
ders the scanty weekly wages in miserable carous- 
ing at the tavern, then staggers home late Satur- 
day night and finds his wife beside the fireless 
hearth, lulling her crying child to sleep. Then 
he begins to beat her because the child is crying 
with hunger and the embers are black. The 
woman loves him, rises the next morning, her 
face swollen with grief and bruises, sweeps the 
house, attends to her work, forces herself to 
smile, and is only too happy if he does not beat 



'J2 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

her again before their child ! That is woman's 
love. (Pause.) You are silent? Oh, be kind 
to me, while the summer of my life still shines. 
You cannot thrust me from your side; whither 
shall I go, if you drive me from you? For you 
this hand has murdered life, for you my soul is 
irrevocably wrecked. 

GuiDO. Begone from my sight! The dead 
man is a spirit, and our love will wander like a 
spirit around its desolate grave, flit through this 
dead house, and weep that it was murdered with 
your husband. Do you not see it? 

Beatrice. I see that when men love, they give 
to women contemptibly little, but women, when 
they love, give all. I see this now, Guido. 

GuiDO. Begone! Begone! Wake your dead 
before you return. 

Beatrice. I would to God that I could wake 
the dead; give to the glassy eye its power of 
sight; restore to the tongue its old eloquence, to 
the heart its beat — it can not be. What is done, 
is done ; once dead is dead forever ; fire no longer 
warms, the winter snows do not injure; some- 
thing has vanished — if you call, no answer 
comes ; if you jest, there is no laugh — and if you 
stab, the blood will never flow. If only I could 
wake him ! Oh, God, turn back thy sun for a 
brief space; strike this night from the book of 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 73 

time and erase it. Turn back the sun and let me 
be what I was an hour ago. No, no, Time does 
not stand still for anything; the sun does not 
stay his course, no matter how hoarsely remorse 
may shriek. But you, beloved, have you no 
longer one word of pity for me? Oh, Guido, 
Guido, kiss me once again ! Do not drive me to 
desperation. A woman grows mad when she is 
treated thus. Will you not kiss me once again? 

Guido (holding the knife aloft). No, not till 
the blood upon this steel has dried, not even then. 

Beatrice. How little pity, O, our Saviour, is 
bestowed upon us women in this cold world ! 
Man lures us to the gulf of ruin, and then deserts 
us when we fall. 

Guido (wildly). Go to your dead. 

Beatrice (ascending the steps). Well, then, 
I will go! 

Guido. Let me find mercy, when at night I 
commit loathsome murder. 

Beatrice (descending several steps). Did 
you say murder? Murder is hungry and de- 
mands still more. Death, his brother, is not sat- 
isfied; he is striding through the house and will 
not go until he has a companion. Wait, Death, 
I will give you a faithful servant to journey with 
you. Cease to shriek, Murder; you shall feast 
till you are satisfied. A storm will threaten this 



74 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act III 

house before morning, a storm so terrible that 
the pale moon already is gray with fear; a light 
wind sweeps wailing round the palace; the high 
stars are hurrying madly through their heavenly 
course, as if the night would melt in tears of 
flame over what the day has brought forth. O, 
weep, sorrowing heaven ; weep thy fill ! Though 
anguish should drown the world like a deluge, 
till it became one sea of bitter tears ; it would not 
be enough for you. (A peal of thunder.) Do you 
not hear. Heaven has discharged its howitzers. 
Vengeance has waked, and her hounds are set 
upon the world. Whichever of us two has called 
the thunder down upon his head, let him beware 
of the disaster the forked lightning hides within 
its flame. (A flash of lightning, followed by a 
peal of thunder. ) 

GuiDo. Hence ! Hence ! (Exit Duchess. As 
she raises the purple curtain, she looks at Guido 
a moment, but the latter makes no sign. It thun- 
ders again.) My life lies in ashes at my feet; 
love itself is slain. In its place Murder steals 
forward on light, blood-stained feet. And she, 
who did the deed — she loved me and committed 
the crime for my sake. How cruel I was to her ! 
Beatrice, Beatrice, come back! (As he ascends 
the stairs, the noise of soldiers is heard.) Ha! 
What is that? The glare of torches and the 



Act III] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 75 

tramp of hurrying feet. God grant they may not 
seize her. (The noise grows louder.) Beatrice! 
There is still time for flight. Come, come down ! 
(The voice of the Duchess is heard outside.) 

Beatrice. My husband's murderer fled yon- 
der. (A hand of soldiers rush dozvn the stairs. 
At first they do not see Guido, until the Duchess, 
surrounded by her servants bearing torches, ap- 
pears at the top and points to Guido. He is in- 
stantly arrested. One of the soldiers snatches the 
knife from his hand and shows it to the captain 
of the guard.) 





76 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 



ACT IV. 

Court of justice. The zvalls belozv are covered 
with stamped grey velvet. Above they are red. 
Gilt symbolical figures support the roof, zvhich is 
composed of red rays; the frieze and the panels 
of the roof are grey. A zvhite satiii canopy zvith 
gold flozvers has been erected for the Duchess. 
Belozv is a long bench covered zvith red cloth for 
the judges. Farther on is a table for the clerk of 
the court. Tzvo soldiers stand on each side of 
the canopy, and tzvo soldiers guard the door. 
Some of the citizens have come in, others are still 
entering and greeting each other. Tzvo bailiffs 
in violet costumes, zvith long zvhite staffs, are 
keeping order. 

First Citizen. Good morning, Neighbor 
Anton. 

Second Citizen. Good morning, Neighbor 
Dominick. 

First Citizen. This is a strange day for 
Padua, isn't it? — the Duke dead. 

Second Citizen. I can tell you, Neighbor 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 'J*J 

Dominick, I haven't experienced such a day since 
the last Duke died — as sure as I'm an honest 
man. 

First Citizen. First he'll be examined and 
then sentenced, isn't that so, Neighbor Anton ? 

Second Citizen. Oh, no, or he might escape 
punishment. First he'll be sentenced, that he 
may get his dues, and then the examination will 
take place, so that no injustice will be possible. 

First Citizen. Come, come; he'll lose his 
life, that's certain. 

Second Citizen. It's surely a very bad thing 
to shed the blood of a Duke. 

First Citizen. A Duke must have blue blood. 

Second Citizen. According to my view, our 
Duke had black blood, like his soul. 

First Citizen. Beware, Neighbor Anton, the 
bailiff with the blue eyes is aiming at you. 

Second Citizen. What do I care whether he 
stares at me with his blue eyes ; he can't beat me 
with them. 

Third Citizen. What do ypu think of the 
young man who stuck his knife into the Duke ? 

Second Citizen. He's a well-educated, pleas- 
ant, good-looking fellow, and yet a scoundrel, 
because he killed the Duke. 

Third Citizen. He did it for the first time. 
Perhaps the law will grant him mitigating cir- 



78 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

cumstances, because it is not a repetition of the 
offence. 

Second Citizen. Yes, indeed, I didn't think 
of that. But the law is strict to everybody. 

Bailiff. Hold your tongue, you rascal. 

Second Citizen. Am I your mirror, Sirrah 
Bailiff, that you call me rascal ? 

First Citizen. Here comes one of the court 
people. Well, Dame Lucia, what is the news at 
court? How is your poor mistress, the sweet- 
faced Duche^? 

Lucia. A fine good morrow! A fine day of 
misfortune ! What a day ! What a misfortune ! 
Last June at Michaelmas it was just nineteen 
years since I married my husband. Now it is 
August, and the Duke is murdered; there's a 
strange coincidence. 

Second Citizen. If it's a strange coincidence, 
perhaps the young man won't be executed. 
There's no law against coincidences, because 
there's none against incidents. 

First Citizen. But what is the Duchess do- 
ing? 

Lucia. I knew that some misfortune was 
hanging over the house ; six weeks ago the cakes 
were all scorched on one side, and St. Martin's 
eve a big moth flew into the light; it had such 
wings that I was almost afraid 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 79 

Second Citizen. But tell us about the Duch- 
ess, good friend ; how is she ? 

Lucia. In truth, it's time to inquire for her, 
the poor lady is nearly out of her senses. She 
didn't close her eyes all night long, but paced up 
and down her room. I begged her to take some- 
thing, whey or aqua-vitae, to go to bed and give 
her exhausted body a little sleep. No, she an- 
swered, I am afraid of dreaming. What do you 
think of that? — strange, isn't it? 

Second Citizen. Great people are often some- 
what lacking in sense ; Providence makes it up 
to them by fine clothes. 

Lucia. Well, I know this much: God guard 
us from murder as long as we live. (Moran- 
zone enters hastily.) 

MoRANZONE. Is the Duke dead? 

Second Citizen. There's a knife in his heart, 
and they say that isn't healthy for anybody. 

MoRANZONE. Who is accused of the murder? 

Second Citizen. The prisoner, sir. 

MoNANZONE. Who is the prisoner? 

Second Citizen. Why, the man who Is ac- 
cused of having murdered the Duke. 

MoRANZONE. I mean, what is his name. 

Second Citizen. Just what his godfathers 
christened him. What else should it be? 



8o THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

Bailiff. His name is Guido Ferranti, my 
lord. 

Moranzone. I almost knew it before you told 
me. (Aside.) It is strange that he killed the 
Duke, when he left me in such a different mood. 
I think when he saw the man, the fiendish be- 
trayer of his father, passion cast out from his 
heart all his boyish love doctrines and planted 
vengeance there. I wonder that he did not es- 
cape. (Mingling zvith the crozvd again.) Tell 
me, how was he captured? 

Third Citizen. Doubtless by the hair of the 
head, sir. 

Moranzone. I mean, who seized him? 

Third Citizen. Why, the people who ar- 
rested him. 

Moranzone. Who raised the alarm? 

Third Citizen. That I can't tell you, sir. 

Lucia. The Duchess herself pointed him out. 

Moranzone (aside). The Duchess! Then 
everything does not agree. 

Lucia. Yes, indeed ! The dagger was still in 
his hand — the dagger of the Duchess. 

Moranzone. What did you say? 

Lucia. The Duke was killed with the Duch- 
ess's dagger. 

Moranzone (aside). There is some mystery 
here ; I cannot understand it. 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 8t 

Second Citizen. They are a long time in 
coming. 

First Citizen. Ton my honor, they'll still 
come too early for the prisoner. 

Bailiff. Silence in the court! 

First Citizen. You're breaking the silence, 
Mr. Bailiff, by ordering us to keep still. (The 
presiding officer of the court and the judges 
enter.) 

Second Citizen. Who's that in scarlet? Is 
it the executioner? 

Third Citizen. No, that's the chief judge. 
(Guido is led in under guard.) 

Second Citizen. There comes the prisoner. 

Third Citizen. He looks respectable. 

First Citizen. That's just his rascality ; now- 
adays scoundrels look so respectable that decent 
people, if they want to be distinguished from 
them, must look like rascals. {The executioner 
enters and stands behind Guido.) 

Second Citizen. There comes the execu- 
tioner ! Lord ! Do you think the axe is sharp ? 

First Citizen. Yes, sharper than your wit; 
but the edge isn't turned toward him, do you 
notice that ? 

Second Citizen {scratching his neck). Upon 
my word, I don't like it so near. 

First Citizen. Why, you needn't be afraid. 



§2 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

They don't cut off the heads of common people, 
they simply hang us. {Trumpets blare outside.) 

Third Citizen. What does that blast of trum- 
pets mean? Are the proceedings over already? 

First Citizen. No, it is for the Duchess. 
{The Duchess enters in a black velvet robe; her 
train of figured black velvet is borne by two 
pages clad in violet. With her come the Cardinal 
in scarlet and the gentlemen of the court in black. 
She takes her seat on the throne above the 
judges; the latter rise and lift their caps at her 
entrance. The Cardinal sits a little lower by her 
side. The courtiers gather around .the throne.) 

Second Citizen. How pale the poor Duchess 
looks ! Will she be on the throne ? 

First Citizen. Yes, she will take the Duke's 
place now. 

Second Citizen. That will be a good thing 
for Padua ; the Duchess is a kind, charitable lady 
— she once cured my child of fever. 

Third Citizen. Yes, and more; she gave us 
bread. That must not be forgotten. 

A Soldier. Move back, good people ! 

Second Citizen. Why need we move back, if 
we are good? 

Bailiff. Silentium ! 

Chief Judge. With Your Grace's consent, if 
it be your pleasure, we will commence proceed- 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA S^ 

ings concerning the murder of the Duke. {The 
Duchess bows.) Let the prisoner step forward! 
What is your name? 

GuiDO. What does that matter, my lord? 

Chief Judge. You are called Guido Ferranti 
in Padua. 

Guido. A man will die under that name just 
as well as under any other. 

Chief Judge. You are well aware of what a 
terrible crime you are here accused: the treach- 
erous murder of our Duke, Simone Gesso, Lord 
of Padua. What have you to say in answer? 

Guido. Nothing. 

Chief Judge. Do you thereby make a confes- 
sion of guilt? 

Guido. No, I confess nothing and deny noth- 
ing. I pray you, my lord, proceed as quickly as 
justice and the law will permit, I shall make no 
statement. 

Chief Judge. Then you cannot be guiltless 
of this murder, rather your stony, perverse heart 
has closed its doors to right. Do not believe that 
your silence will profit you; on the contrary, it 
increases your guilt, of which, in truth, we are 
fully convinced. Once more : speak ! 

Guido. I will say nothing. 

Chief Judge. Then there is nothing left for 



84 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

me to do, except to pronounce upon you the sen- 
tence of speedy death. 

GuiDO. I beg of you to declare your judg- 
ment quickly ; you can grant me nothing I desire 
m.ore. 

Chief Judge (rising). Guido Ferranti. 

MoRANZONE (stepping out of the crowd). 
Stay, my lord ! 

Chief Judge. Who are you that command 
justice to halt? 

MoRANZONE. If it is justicc, let it take its 
course ; but if it is not justice 

Chief Judge. Who is this man? 

Bardi. a nobleman, and an acquaintance of 
our former Duke. 

Chief Judge. Then you have come just at the 
right time to see our Duke's murder expiated. 

MoRANZONE. Has suspicion merely rested 
blindly on him, or have you proofs that it was 
he? 

Chief Judge. Three times the court com- 
manded him to speak, but guilt lies heavily upon 
his tongue, for he brings forward nothing in his 
defence, nor tries to clear himself from the 
charge, as innocence would do. 

MoRANZONE. Again I ask : have you proofs ? 

Chief Judge (showing the dagger). This 
dagger, which, covered with blood, a soldier 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 8$ 

wrenched from his blood-stained hands last 
night ; do we need farther proof ? 

MoRANZONE {takes the dagger and approaches 
the Duchess). Did I not see a dagger like this 
hanging from Your Grace's girdle? {The 
Duchess shudders zvithout making any reply.) 
Permit me a few moments with this young man, 
who is in so dangerous a position. 

Chief Judge. With pleasure, sir! May you 
induce him to free his heart of its guilt. {Moran- 
zone crosses at right to Guido and takes his 
hand.) 

Moranzone (m a whisper). She did it. I 
saw it in her eyes ! Do you believe I will suffer 
your father's son to be dragged to the place of 
execution by this woman? As her husband sold 
your father, she now desires to deal with you. 

Guido. Count Moranzone, I did it alone. You 
may be satisfied, my father is avenged. 

Moranzone. Enough, enough, I know you 
did not do it, or your father's dagger, not this 
woman's toy, would have performed the work. 
See how she is staring at us ! By Heaven, the 
marble mask shall be pulled down, before all the 
world I will accuse her of this murder. 

Guido. You shall not. 

Moranzone. Be assured I will. 

Guido. You must not speak, my lord. 



86 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

MoRANZONE. Why not? If she is innocent, 
she can prove it, if she is guilty, let her die. 

GuiDO. What shall I do? 

MoRANZONE. You or I — one will tell the truth 
here. 

GuiDO. No, I will tell all. 

MoRANZONE. That is right, Guido. Let her 
crime fall on her own head, not on yours ! Did 
she not surrender you to the guard? 

GuiDO. Yes, it was she ! 

MoRANZONE. Then avenge your father's death 
on her! She was the Judas' wife. 

GuiDO. Yes, she was ! 

MoRANZONE. I think no farther goad is need- 
ed, though yesterday you were in such boyish 
despair. 

GuiDO. If yesterday I was a despairing boy, 
I shall certainly not be one to-day. 

Chief Judge. Will he confess? 

GuiDO. My lord, I will confess that a horri- 
ble murder was committed here. 

First Citizen. Now see: he has a gentle 
heart and has nothing to do with the murder; 
they will let him go free. 

Chief Judge. And is this all? 

GuiDO. No, I will say still more ; whoever 
sheds human blood commits a mortal sin. 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 87 

Second Citizen. He ought to tell the execu- 
tioner that; it's a good maxim. 

GuiDO. Lastly I entreat the court to permit 
me frankly to explain the mystery of this murder, 
dispel the darkness, and name the criminal who, 
with this dagger, killed the Duke last night. 

Chief Judge. It is granted you. 

Beatrice (rising). No, no, he shall not speak; 
do we need any farther proofs? Was he not 
seized at night in the palace in the blood-stained 
robe of guilt? 

Chief Judge (showing her the hook of laws). 
Your Grace may see the law. 

Beatrice (pushing the hook aside). Consider, 
Judge, is it not very probable that a man like him 
may, in the presence of all the people here, slan- 
der and abuse my husband, the city, the honor of 
this city, perhaps even myself? 

Chief Judge. But the law. Your Grace ! 

Beatrice. He shall not speak, he must ascend 
the ladder to the executioner's block with a gag 
in his mouth. 

Chief Judge. But the law ! 

Beatrice. The law does not bind us, we bind 
others with it. 

MoRANZONE. My lord, you will not permit 
such injustice here. 

Chief Judge. Spare yourself the plea, Count 



88 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

Moranzone. It would be a bad example, noble 
lady, to divert the law from the straight path; 
with this authority anarchy might move our 
golden scales, injustice might obtain an unjust 
victory. 

Bardi. Your Grace cannot restrain the course 
of justice. 

Beatrice. You preach justice and make a 
parade of law. It seems to me, proud Gentle- 
men of Padua, that to any one who injured you 
in land or purse, who tried to lessen your vast 
revenues by so much as the value of a ferry's toll, 
you would not grant the delay of lingering law, 
with the sweet patience you commend to me. 

Bardi. Your Grace is doing the nobles an in- 
justice. 

Beatrice. It does not seem so to me. Which 
of you all, if he should find in his house at night 
a thief, stuffing mere worthless rubbish into his 
rags, would enter into negotiations with him, and 
not call a constable to drag him straight to 
prison? So you men, if you had found that fel- 
low with my husband's blood upon his hands, 
would also have dragged him before his judge, 
that his head might be struck off. 

GuiDO. God ! 

Beatrice. Speak, Judge ! 

Chief Judge. It cannot be. Your Grace. 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 89 

Padua's laws are strict on this point; even the 
common murderer is permitted to defend himself 
with his own lips. 

MoRANZONE. O, just Judgc ! O, just law ! 

Beatrice. You exult too early with your 
justice! This is no common murderer, Judge, 
rather an outlaw, a traitor to the state, captured 
in open war. For he who murders the ruler of 
a State, murders the State also, makes all women 
widows and all children orphans, therefore he is 
as much an enemy of the State, as if he should 
come with threatening artillery, in league with 
the armies of Venice, and shake the gates of our 
fortifications. No, he is even more dangerous 
to the State than bristling spears and thundering 
cannon, for walls, gates, battlements, forts, things 
composed of wood and stone, can be rebuilt, but 
who can call back to life the body of the dead 
husband, bid him live and laugh? 

Maffio. By Saint Paul, I should think he 
would now be forbidden to speak. 

Jeppo. Yes, that's to the purpose. Listen 
farther. 

Beatrice. Therefore now scatter ashes upon 
Padua's head, hang mourning banners out in 
every street, let each man clothe himself in sol- 
emn black — but ere we prepare for the funeral 
rites, let us remember the infamous murderer 



90 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

who has brought ruin upon our State. Take him 
at once to that narrow house, whence no sound 
comes, where, with a Httle dust, Death fills the 
lying mouths of men. 

GuiDO. Let me go, Bailiffs ! Hear me, Judge ! 
You can as easily curb the fetterless ocean, the 
winter whirlwind, the Alpine tempest, as to quiet 
me. And if you thrust your swords into my 
throat, each gaping wound will cry out to 
Heaven with a wrathful tongue. 

Chief Judge. Such violence is worthless ; so 
far as the tribunal does not give you legal au- 
thority for free speech, your words are spoken 
to the wind. {The Duchess smiles, Giiido falls 
hackzvard with a despairing gesture.) Your 
Grace, I will now go with these wise judges into 
another room to consult about this difficult point 
of law, and examine statutes and precedents. 

Beatrice. Go, honored Judge, scan the stat- 
utes carefully, and do not yield to this scoundrel's 
will. 

MoRANZONE. Go, houorcd Judge ; scan your 
conscience, and send no one to death unheard. 
{Exit judges.) 

Beatrice. Silence, you evil spirit of my life, 
for the second time you stand between us ; this 
time, I think, my lord, it is my turn. 



^Ct IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA QI 

GuiDO. I will not die, until I have given my 
deposition. 

Beatrice. Die, and take your secret with you 
to the grave. 

GuiDO. Are you still that Duchess of Padua? 

Beatrice. I am what you have made me ; look 
here, look; I am your creature. 

Maffio. See, isn't she like the white tigress 
in Venice which an Indian sultan once sent to 
the Doge? 

Jefpo. Hush, she'll hear you. 

Executioner. My lad, I don't know what 
your words can accomplish, since my axe is so 
near your neck ; talk will not dull its edge. But 
if you set so much value on it, turn to the man of 
the church yonder; the common people call him 
here, in truth ; I know he has a kindly heart. 

GuiDO. You, whose calling is Death, are more 
courteous than any of the rest. 

Executioner. May God have mercy on you, 
I am doing you the last service on earth. 

GuiDO. My Lord Cardinal, in a Christian 
country, where the Redeemer's benign face looks 
down from the high seat of the court of justice, 
must a man die without confession? Else let me 
proclaim the horrible story of my sin, in so far 
as sin weighs upon my soul. 

Beatrice. Useless waste of time ! 



92 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

Cardinal. Alas, my son, I have no influence 
upon the judges. My office begins when sen- 
tence has been pronounced, in warning the trem- 
bHng sinner to repent, that he may whisper into 
the ear of Holy Church the secrets of his guilt- 
laden heart. 

Beatrice. You can tell all you know in the 
confessional until your lips grow weary, but here 
you shall not speak. 

GuiDo. Reverend Father, you offer me but 
feeble consolation. 

Cardinal. No, my son, the mighty power of 
the Church does not end with this poor soap- 
bubble world, of which we, Hieronymus says, are 
but the dust — for if the sinner dies repentant, 
prayer and our holy masses may do much to 
snatch the soul from the fires of purgatory. 

Beatrice. If you meet in the fires of purga- 
tory my husband, with a blood-red star on his 
heart, tell him I sent you there. 

Guido. Oh, God ! 

Moranzone. This is the woman you loved, is 
it not? 

Cardinal. How cruel Your Grace is to this 
man ! 

Beatrice. Not half so cruel as he. 

Cardinal. Yes, he killed your husband. 

Beatrice. Certainly. 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 93 

Cardinal. Yet mercy is the fairest preroga- 
tive of princes. 

Beatrice. No mercy was granted me, and I 
will give none. He has transformed my heart 
into a stone, sowed nettles in a field of blossom- 
ing flowers, poisoned the fount of pity in my 
breast, and torn up kindness by the roots. My 
life is like a barren land from which goodness is 
wholly stripped. I am what he has made me. 
(The Duchess zveeps.) 

Jeppo. Strange that she loved the wicked 
Duke. 

Maffio. It's strange when women love their 
husbands, and it is strange when they do not. 

Jeppo. What a philosopher you are, Petrucci. 

Maffio. I can bear the woes of others — that 
is philosophy. 

Beatrice. Those graybeards in council are 
staying a long time. Bid them come, bid them 
come quickly, or my heart will burst, it throbs 
so violently ; not as if I were anxious to live, for 
God knows my life is not so full of joy; but in 
spite of all I would not like to die without com- 
panions or go forth to hell alone. Cardinal, can 
you not read here on my brow a word written in 
scarlet letters? It is vengeance. Bring water 
that I may wash it ofif; it was seared on me last 
night. Must I wear it by daylight, Cardinal? 



94 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

Oh, how it scorches and burns my brain! Give 
me a knife — no, not that one ; another, I'll cut 
it out. 

Cardinal. It is according to the law of na- 
ture to rave against the murderous hand of the 
criminal who killed your husband in his sleep. 

Beatrice. Oh, Cardinal, if I could burn this 
hand ! It will burn forever in the other world. 

Cardinal. Our church commands us to for- 
give our enemies. 

Beatrice. Forgive! What is that? I was 
never forgiven. They are coming at last. Well, 
my lord judge, well? (TJie chief judge enters.) 

Chief Judge. August lady and liege mistress, 
we have long examined the disputed point and 
carefully considered Your Grace's wisdom — wis- 
dom never spoke from lovelier lips. 

Beatrice. Go on, sir, without compliments. 

Chief Judge. We find, as Your Grace cor- 
rectly demonstrated, that every one who, by force 
or strategy, conspires against the person of the 
ruler is ipse facto an outlaw and devoid of the 
rights which belong to others, is a traitor and an 
enemy of the people, whom any sword can slay 
without its owner's being arrested for it; but if 
he is brought before the tribunal he must silently 
and humbly submit to his well-earned fate, since 
he has forfeited the right of free speech. 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 95 

Beatrice. I thank you from my heart. I hke 
your law. And now, I beg you, dispatch the 
murderer, for I am weary, and so is the execu- 
tioner. What more is there ? 

Chief Judge. Yes, Your Grace, there is more. 
The man is a stranger, not a Paduan, and there- 
fore owed our Duke no more fealty than nature 
requires from every man. Even though accused 
of manifold acts of treason, whose punishment is 
certain death, he still has the right of free speech 
in public session before the people ; nay, the court 
will earnestly entreat him to defend his life ac- 
cording to due form, that his own city, justly 
angered, may not charge our city with injustice, 
from which a war might arise for us. Thus 
merciful are the laws of Padua to the alien within 
her walls ! 

Beatrice. Is he, as a member of our court, 
a stranger here ? 

Chief Judge. Not until he has served seven 
years can he become a citizen of Padua. 

GuiDO. I thank you from my heart. I like 
your law. 

Second Citizen. I don't like laws. If there 
were no laws there would be no transgressors, 
and everybody would be virtuous. 

First Citizen. Why, of course, that's a clever 
saying; it will help a man on. 



96 TH£ DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

Bailiff. Yes, to the gallows, rascal ! 

Beatrice. Is this the law? 

Chief Judge. Certainly this is the law here, 
Your Grace. 

Beatrice. Show me the book; it will stand 
there blood-red. 

Jeppo. Look at our Duchess ! 

Beatrice. Accursed law. Ah, if I could but 
tear you from the government, as I now tear you 
from this book! {Tears out the page.) Count 
Bardi, one word ! Are you trustworthy ? Get me 
a horse ; let it wait at my gate, for I must ride to 
Venice as soon as possible. 

Bardi. To Venice, Your Grace ? 

Beatrice. Not a word of it ! Go, go at once ! 
{Exit Bardi.) One word more. Judge. If, as 
you say, this is the law in Padua — and I have no 
doubt you are correct, though justice in such a 
case is an injustice — can I not, by virtue of my 
office, adjourn this court until a later day? 

Chief Judge. A criminal suit can never be 
adjourned. 

Beatrice. I will not stay to hear this man 
when with brutal tongue he slanders me. Be- 
sides, duties which cannot be deferred await me 
at home. Come, Gentlemen ! 

Chief Judge. Your Grace, you must not go 
until the accused is condemned or acquitted. 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 97 

Beatrice. Must not, Judge? Why, by what 
right do you place obstacles in my path? Am I 
not mistress here in Padua — the ruler of the 
state ? 

Chief Judge. For this very reason. Since 
you are the fount of life as well as death, from 
which justice flows in a mighty stream, justice 
will dry up if you are not present; the goal will 
be missing; therefore you must stay. 

Beatrice. Will you detain me against my 
will? 

Chief Judge. Your will cannot oppose the 
law. 

Beatrice. And if I force my way out? 

Chief Judge. You will not force the judges 
to make way for you. 

Beatrice. I will not stay. (Rises from her 
seat.) 

Chief Judge. Is the doorkeeper there? Let 
him come forward. (The doorkeeper advances.) 
You know the duties of your office ! ( The door- 
keeper locks the doors of the courtroom, which 
are at the left, and kneels as the Duchess and her 
train approach.) 

Doorkeeper. In all humility, I beseech Your 
Grace, do not let my duty become discourtesy, 
the unwelcome dignity a burden. By virtue of 
the same law which makes you a Princess I stai?-^ 



9^ The duchess of padua [Act IV 

here. If I should break the law, Your Grace, I 
should break your regulation, and not mine. 

Beatrice. Is there no one among you, Gen- 
tlemen, who will thrust this braggart out of the 
way? 

Maffig (draws his sword). I will! 

Chief Judge. Count Maffio, be on your guard. 
(To Jeppo.) You, too, my lord. The first who 
draws his sword, even though it may be only 
against a bailiff, dies before night. 

Beatrice. Sheathe your swords. Gentlemen; 
it beseems me to listen to this man. ( Goes to the 
throne. ) 

Maffio. Now you will have your enemy in 
your hand. 

Chief Judge (grasping the hourglass). Guide 
Ferranti, while the sand in this hourglass is run- 
ning out you are free to speak ; no longer. 

GuiDO. It will suffice. 

Chief Judge. You stand upon the verge of 
the grave ; by your salvation speak only the ab- 
solute truth ; nothing else will profit you. 

GuiDO. If I speak falsely, deliver my body to 
the executioner. 

Chief Judge (reversing the hourglass). Si- 
lence while the prisoner speaks. 

Bailiff. Silentium in the hall ! 

GuiDO. My Lord Judge, honorable justices of 



Act IV] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA 99 

this high court, I scarcely know how to begin my 
speech, so strangely horrible the story seems to 
me. First, let me tell my descent. I am the son 
of brave Lorenzo, the Duke who by shameful 
treachery was sold by a scoundrel, the former 
Duke in this city, in Padua. 

Chief Judge. Take care ! It will avail you 
nothing to insult the Prince who now rests in the 
coffin. 

Maffio. By Saint Jacob, then he is Parma's 
hereditary lord. 

Jeppo. I always thought him a nobleman. 

Guido. I confess that with the purpose of just 
vengeance, the most absolutely just vengeance on 
a murderer, I took service at the court of the 
Duke, sat at his table, drank his wine, and was 
his comrade. So much I confess, and also that I 
lay in wait till he confided to me the dearest secret 
of his life, till he clung to me and trusted me in 
all respects, as my noble father once trusted him. 
I waited for that. {To the executioner.) You 
man of blood, do not aim your axe at me before 
the time. Who knows whether my death hour is 
at hand? Is there no other neck here except 
mine ? 

Chief Judge. The sand in the hourglass is 

running swiftly. Come quickly to the murder of 

the Duke. , ^_ . 

LOFC 



lOO THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act IV 

GuiDO. In short, it was twelve o'clock last 
night when, by a strong rope, I climbed the palace 
wall to avenge my father's murder. With this 
intention, I admit it, sir. So much I will confess, 
and also this : When I had gently ascended the 
stairs which lead to the bedroom of the Duke, 
and grasped with my hand the scarlet portiere, 
which trembled, shaken by the storm, the white 
moon in the heavens filled the dark space with a 
flood of silver; the night lighted her candles for 
me. The man I hated was still uttering curses in 
his sleep, and at the thought of my father's mur- 
der — my father, whom he bartered to the block, 
sold to the scaffold — I pierced the traitor's heart 
with this very dagger, which I found by chance 
in the room. 

Beatrice (rising). Oh! 

GuiDo (pouring out the words). I stabbed the 
Duke. May I now, Judge, implore one favor? 
Let me no longer behold the sun when it illumines 
the misery of this wretched world. 

Chief Judge. Your wish shall be granted. 
Die to-night ! Lead him away ! Come, Mistress, 
Sovereign Lady ! ( Guido is led out; as he goes 
the Duchess extends her arms towards him and 
rushes across the stage.) 

Beatrice. Guido! Guido! (She falls faint- 
ing.) 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA lOI 



ACT V. 

A dungeon in the State prison at Padua. Giiido 
is lying (at the left) upon a bench; beside if is 
a table with a cup. Five soldiers are drinking 
and playing dice on a stone table in the corner; 
one of them has a lantern hanging from his hal- 
berd. A torch is fastened into the zvall above 
Giiido's head. In the back are two grated win- 
dows, between them {in the center) the door. 
They open into a corridor. The stage is mod- 
erately dark. 

First Soldier (casting dice). Six again, my 
dear Pietro ! 

Second Soldier. The devil, Lieutenant! I'll 
play with you no longer, or I shall lose every- 
thing. 

Third Soldier. Except your sense ; you need 
have no fear about that. 

Second Soldier. No, he can't take that. 

Third Soldier. No ; you haven't any to lose. 

The Soldiers (loudly). Ha! Ha! Ha! 

First Soldier. Hush, you'll wake the pris- 
oner; he's asleep. 



I02 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

Second Soldier. What does that matter? 
He'll sleep long enough after he's buried. Upon 
my word, he would be glad if we could wake him 
when he's lying in the grave. 

Third Soldier. Oh, no ; for when he wakes 
up there it will be the Day of Judgment. 

Second Soldier. And besides, he went to 
work badly; for you must know that to kill one 
of us, who are only flesh and blood, is going 
against orders ; but to kill a Duke is going against 
the law. 

First Soldier. But he was a very infamous 
nobleman. 

Second Soldier. Then he ought not to have 
touched him, for whoever meddles with infamous 
people runs the risk of being befouled by their 
villainy. 

Third Soldier. Of course. How old is the 
prisoner? 

Second Soldier. Old enough to commit fol- 
lies, and not yet old enough to be sensible. 

First Soldier. Then he may be any age. 

Second Soldier. They say the Duchess want- 
ed to pardon him. 

First Soldier. Really? 

Second Soldier. Yes; she is said to have 
urged it on the Chief Judge, but he wouldn't. 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I03 

First Soldier. I should have thought, Pietro, 
the Duchess could do everything. 

Second Soldier. Well, yes, as she is built. I 
know no prettier woman. 

Soldiers. Ha! Ha! Ha! 

First Soldier. I thought our Duchess could 
command everything. 

Second Soldier. Oh, no ; for he is now deliv- 
ered to his judges, and they will see that he is 
executed — they and big Hugo, the executioner. 
But when his head is once off, then the Duchess 
can pardon him, if it so pleases her. There's no 
law against that. 

First Soldier. I don't believe that big Hugo, 
as you call him, will finally practice his profession 
on him. This Guido is of noble blood, so, ac- 
cording to the law, he can take poison if it is his 
pleasure. 

Third Soldier. Upon honor, to drink poison 
is a sorry pleasure. 

Second Soldier. What sort of poison is it ? 

First Soldier. Why, poison that kills. 

Second Soldier. What sort of thing is poi- 
son? 

First Soldier. A drink like water, only not 
quite so beneficial. If you want to try it, here's 
some in the cup. 



104 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

Second Soldier. Zounds, if it isn't good for 
me I won't touch it. 

Third Soldier. Suppose he doesn't drink it? 

First Soldier. Then he will be executed. 

Third Soldier. And if he does drink it? 

First Soldier. Then he will die. 

Second Soldier. That's a hard choice. I 
hope he'll make it wisely. (Some one knocks at 
the door.) 

First Soldier. See who that is. {Third sol- 
dier goes and looks through the keyhole.) 

Third Soldier. A woman. 

First Soldier. Is she pretty ? 

Third Soldier. I can't see, Lieutenant; she 
wears a mask. 

First Soldier. Only very beautiful or very 
ugly women hide their faces. Let her in ! ( The 
soldier opens the door; the Duchess enters in a 
mask and mantle.) 

Beatrice {to the third soldier). Are you the 
officer of the guard ? 

First Soldier {stepping forward). I am, 
Madame. 

Beatrice. I wish to talk with the prisoner 
alone. 

First Soldier. Unfortunately, that is impos- 
sible. {The Duchess hands him a ring; he looks 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I05 

at it, returns it with a how, and orders the sol- 
diers.) Withdraw! {Exit other soldiers.) 

Beatrice, Your soldiers are somewhat rough, 
officer. 

First Soldier. They don't mean any harm. 

Beatrice. I shall return in a few minutes. 
When I pass along the corridor do not let them 
raise my mask. 

First Soldier. You need fear nothing, your 
ladyship. 

Beatrice. I have special reasons for wishing 
that my face should not be seen. 

First Soldier. With this ring, your ladyship, 
you can go in and out at your pleasure. It is the 
Duchess' ring. 

Beatrice. Leave us alone. ( The soldier is in 
the act of going.) One moment more. What 
hour is appointed for the execution? 

First Soldier. According to our orders, your 
ladyship, we are to lead him out at twelve o'clock, 
but he will probably hardly wait for us. He will 
doubtless take a sip from yonder poison. Men 
dread the executioner. 

Beatrice. Is that poison ? 

First Soldier. Yes, your ladyship; very 
strong poison. 

Beatrice. You can go now. 

First Soldier. Deuce take it, what a pretty 



I06 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

hand! Who can she be? Perhaps a lady who 
loved him. (Exit.) 

Beatrice (removing the mask). At last! Now 
he can fly in the cloak and mask. We are almost 
the same height; no one will know him. I care 
little for my own fate. If he does not curse me, 
if he trusts me, nothing matters. Will he curse 
me? He has a right to do so. It is now eleven 
o'clock. They will not come before twelve. 
What will they say if the nest is empty? (Ap- 
proaches the table.) So this is poison. How 
strange that here in this liquid lies all life's wis- 
dom! (Raises the cup.) It smells of poppy. 
How well I remember when I was a child in 
Sicily I gathered the red poppies among the grain 
and twined a wreath. Even my uncle, the gloomy 
John of Naples, laughed. I did not know that 
poppies can choke the fount of life, check its 
pulses and freeze the blood, till men can seize the 
poor body with hooks and cast it into the pit. 
Yes, the body — the soul goes to heaven or hell. 
Where will mine go? (Takes the torch from the 
wall and approaches the couch.) How gently he 
sleeps, like a boy wearied by play. Ah, if I could 
only sleep as peacefully; but I dream. (Bending 
over him.) Poor boy, shall I kiss him? No, my 
lips would scorch him ; he is weary of love. Yet 
his white neck shall escape the executioner; I'll 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA I07 

see to that. This very night he will fly from Padua. 
I rejoice over it. You are very cunning, my lord 
Judge, but you are not half so cunning as I. I 
rejoice over that. O God, how I loved him, and 
what a bloodstained blossom has bloomed from 
it. (Goes to the table again.) What if I drink 
this potion and thus end my life ! Would it 
not be better not to wait till Death comes 
to my bedside with his followers — repentance, 
sickness, age and sorrow. I do not know whether 
there is much suffering. While still so young, 
I go to death; yet is must be. Why? Why 
die? He will escape to-night, so that his blood 
will not be on my head. No, I must die ; I am 
guilt-laden, therefore I must die ! I should die 
happier if he would kiss me ; but he will not. I 
did not know him. I thought that he would sell 
me to the Judge. We women never know our 
dearest ones until they leave us. {The hell begins 
to ring.) Hideous bell, why are you shrieking 
like a bloodhound's brazen mouth, for this life? 
Silence ! You will cry in vain. He is stirring. 
Quick! {Seizes the cup.) Oh, love, love, love, I 
never thought that I should pledge you thus. 
{Drinks the poison and sets the cup on the table 
behind her. The noise wakes Guido; he starts 
up, but does not see zvhat she has done. Silence 
reigns a moment; they look at each other.) I do 



Io8 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

not come now to beg for mercy. I know that I 
stand beyond tlxe pale of any compassion, a guilt- 
laden, infamous woman. Enough of that. I have 
already confessed to the Judges the overwhelming 
measure of my sin. They w^ould not listen to me. 
Some said I had invented it to save you, since 
you were in league with me ; others said women 
played with pity as they did with men ; and others 
still that grief for my husband had robbed me of 
my reason. They did not listen to me, and when 
I swore it on the Bible a doctor was summoned. 
Ten to one — there are ten. Your life is in their 
power. I am called Duchess of Padua, though 
whether I am still I do not know. I have par- 
doned you, and they rejected it. It would be 
treason. I should have taught them that — per- 
haps it is so. In an hour they will be here and 
drag you from your cell and bind your hands be- 
hind your back, and hale you to the block. I will 
outstrip them. Here is the signet ring of Padua ; 
it will surely pass you through the guard. Take 
this mask and cloak. They have orders to make 
no search. When you are once through the gate, 
turn to the left, and at the second bridge horses 
are waiting for you. To-morrow you will be in 
Venice. {Pause.) You will not speak, will not 
even curse me, before you go ? You have a right 
to do so. Do you not understand that between 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA lOQ 

you and the executioner's scaffold there is scarce- 
ly so much sand to run through the hourglass as 
a little child can gather? Here is the ring; the 
hand is clean ; no blood is sticking to it. Have 
no fear ! Will you not take the ring ? 

GuiDo {takes the ring and kisses it). Gladly, 
noble lady. 

Beatrice. And leave Padua? 

GuiDO. What ! Leave Padua ? 

Beatrice. This very night. 

GuiDo. This very night? 

Beatrice. Thank your God for it. 

GuiDO. Then I may live? Life never seemed 
so alluring as now. 

Beatrice. Why do you linger, Guido? Here 
is the cloak, at the bridge a horse — at the ferry- 
house below, by the second bridge. Why do you 
still linger here? Do you not hear the terrible 
bell, which with every stroke shortens your young 
life by moments? Fly quickly! 

GuiDO. He will come soon enough. 

Beatrice. Who ? 

GuiDO {quietly). Why, the executioner! 

Beatrice. No, no. 

GuiDo. He alone can take me out of Padua. 

Beatrice. What 1 You will dare, dare to bur- 
den my overladen soul with two dead men ? One 
is enough. For when I stand before the throne of 



no THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

God you must not come from behind with a scar- 
let thread round your white neck and accuse me, 
till the very devils who howl in hell would have 
compassion. Will you be more cruel than the 
devils whom God exiled? 

GuiDO. I shall wait, noble lady. 

Beatrice. No, no, you cannot. Do you not 
see that I have less power in Padua than a wan- 
ton? They will kill you. I have already seen 
the scaffold in the open square ; already the popu- 
lace were pressing around it, with cruel jests, 
with delight in horror, as if it were the platform 
for a masquerade, and not death's throne of 
mourning. Oh, Guido, you must fly ! 

GuiDO. Yes, by death's hand, not yours. 

Beatrice. Oh, you are pitiless, pitiless now as 
always. No, Guido, you must go. 

GuiDO. I shall remain. Your Grace. 

Beatrice. You must not, Guido ; for it would 
be so terrible that the stars themselves, gazing in 
wonder, would fall from the sky ; that the moon, 
paralyzed, would be eclipsed in her course, and 
the sun refuse to shine upon the world which wit- 
nessed your death. 

GuiDO. I shall not yield. 

Beatrice (wringing her hands). You do not 
know. When the judges are once more here I 
shall be powerless to save you from the axe. As 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA III 

if I had not already committed crimes enough ! 
Does not one sin suffice ? Must it produce a sec- 
ond, worse than the original crime? God, close 
up the womb of sin, wither it; more blood must 
not cleave to my hand than now. 

GuiDO {seizing her hand). What! Have I 
fallen so low that I am not allowed to die for 
you? 

Beatrice (withdrazving her hand). For me? 
My life is a worthless thing — flung into the street 
mire of the world. You must not die for me — 
must not, Guido. I am a guilty woman. 

GuiDO. Let those who know not the name of 
temptation, let those who have never walked like 
us through the glowing flame of passion, and 
whose lives are dull and colorless — in short, let 
all, if any such there are, who have not loved, cast 
stones at us. 

Beatrice. Woe, woe is me ! 

Guido {throwing himself at her feet). You 
are my love; you are my supreme bliss! O 
golden hair; O crimson lips; O cheeks created 
to allure man's love ! Embodied image of perfec- 
tion ! Paying you homage, I forget the past ; 
paying you homage, my soul touches yours ; pay- 
ing you homage, I feel myself a god — even 
though my body goes to the executioner's block, 
my love will last forever. {The Duchess covers 



II 12 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

her face with her hands; Guido draws them 
down.) Raise the drooping curtains of your 
eyes, that I may gaze into them and say I love 
you; never more than when death is forcing his 
cold lips between us. I love you, Beatrice. Your 
answer ? Alas for me, I can bear the executioner, 
but not this silence. Say that you love me. This 
one word, and death will no longer have a sting ; 
but if you do not utter it, fifty thousand deaths 
will be a mercy. You are cruel ; you do not love 
me! 

Beatrice. I have no right. Love's hands of 
innocence are stained with blood basely shed. 
Here on this floor is blood which I have sprinkled. 

Guido. Not you, love ; a devil has only tempt- 
ed you. 

t Beatrice (rising suddenly). No, no; each in- 
dividual is his own devil, and himself makes the 
world a hell. ) 

Guido. Then let Paradise sink to Tartarus ! 
For now for a brief space I will make this world 
heaven. I love yoii, Beatrice. 

Beatrice. Tainted by sin, I am not worthy of 
you. 

Guido. By the Redeemer, the sin, if sin it 
were, was mine. I cherished murder in my heart, 
sweetened the banquet with it, spiced the wine ; 
in spirit I killed the accursed Duke a hundred 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA II3 

times a day. Had this man died only half as 
often as I desired it, death would have stalked 
continually through the house. Murder would 
not have rested. But you, beloved, who looked 
with pity on the beaten hound, at sight of whom 
the little children rejoiced, because the sunshine 
went with you where you passed, you lovely angel 
of divinely white purity, what was it that is called 
your sin ? 

Beatrice. What was it? Often it seems to 
me a dream, an evil dream, sent by an angry 
God; but then I see the body in the coffin, and 
know it is no dream — know that my hand is red 
with blood and my poor soul, on its voyage to a 
haven of love from the wild tempests of this mad 
world, has wrecked its boat upon cliffs of sin. 
What was it, do you ask ? Only murder ; nothing 
save murder, terrible murder. 

GuiDO. No, no, no, no ; it was only your love's 
blossoms of misery. It opened to life in a mo- 
ment, and in that moment bore the bloody fruit, 
which I had plucked a thousand times in spirit. 
My mind was full of murder, my arm was weak, 
your arm wrought murder, but your mind was 
pure. I love you for that reason, Beatrice. Who- 
ever denies compassion to your anguish will find 
no mercy in heaven. Kiss me, sweet ! ( Tries to 
kiss her.) 



114 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

Beatrice. No, no ; your lips are pure ; mine 
are stained. My paramour was murder, and sin 
slept in my bed. Guido, if you love me, fly, for 
every moment is gnawing your life like a worm. 
Beloved one, fly, and if in after years you think 
of me, let it be as a woman who loved you more 
than all else in the world. Think of me, Guido, 
only as a woman who desired to sacrifice her life 
for her love, in doing which she killed her love. 
What is that? The pealing of the bell has ceased, 
and I hear armed men approaching on the stairs. 

Guido (aside). The signal for the guard to 
come for me. 

Beatrice. Why did it stop ringing? 

Guido. Must you know ? My life on this side 
of the grave ends here — in the other world we 
shall meet again. 

Beatrice. It is not yet too late. Fly hence ; 
the horse is standing by the bridge. There is still 
time. Away, away, you must delay no longer. 
(Noise of soldiers in the corridor.) 

A Voice Outside. Make way for the Chief 
Judge of Padua ! ( Through the grated windows 
the Chief Judge is seen passing along the corri- 
dor, torch-hearers before him.) 

Beatrice. It is too late. 

A Voice from Outside. Make way for the 
executioner ! 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA II5 

Beatrice (throwing herself down). Oh! 

( The executioner, with his axe on his shoulder, 
appears in the corridor, monks, hearing candles, 
follow him.) 

GuiDo. Farewell, my love. I will drink this 
poison; I do not fear the executioner, but I do 
not wish to die alone upon the block. 

Beatrice. Oh ! 

GuiDO. No, here, here in your arms, in a kiss- 
farewell ! {Goes to the table and seises the cup.) 
What, art thou empty? {Throws it on the 
floor.) Oh, miserly jailer, you are niggardly 
even with poison. 

Beatrice {faintly). He is not to blame. 

GuiDO. Oh, God, have you drunk it, Beatrice ? 
Tell me you did not ! 

Beatrice. Though I wished to deny it, a fire 
is consuming my heart which will soon speak. 

GuiDO. Treacherous love, why did you leave 
no drop for me ? 

Beatrice. No, no ; it held death for me alone. 

GuiDO. Let me sip from your lips the poison 
which perhaps still clings there. 

Beatrice. You shall not die; you have shed 
no blood ; you shall not die. I have shed it, and 
I must. Is not the saying written, blood for 
blood ? Who uttered it ? I do not know. 



Il6 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

GuiDO. Wait for me; our souls will go to- 
gether. 

Beatrice. No, live ! There are still many 
women in the world ready for you, for love, not 
for murder. 

GuiDO. I love only you. 

Beatrice. That is no cause for death. 

GuiDO. If we die together, why can we not 
rest together in one grave ? 

Beatrice. The grave is but a narrow mar- 
riage bed. 

GuiDO. It will be enough for us. 

Beatrice. They will cover it with a stiff pall 
and bitter herbs, for roses, I think, do not grow 
in the grave, and if there are any they have all 
withered since the Duke died. 

GuiDO. Ah, Beatrice, your lips wear roses 
which defy death. 

Beatrice. Will not my mouth, when we lie in 
the grave, crumble to dust, the luster of your eyes 
shrivel to sightless hollows, and worms, the wed- 
ding guests, consume your heart ? 

GuiDO. What of that? Death recoils from 
love, and by the eternal majesty of love I will die 
with you. 

Beatrice. Only the tomb is black; the grave 
is black, so I must go first to light the candles 
before you come. No, no, I will not die; I will 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA II7 

not die. Love, you are strong, you are young 
and brave ! Step before me when the death angel 
comes, and strive with him for me ! ( Thrusts 
Guido before her.) I will kiss you as soon as 
you conquer him. Have you no way to check 
the poison that is rending me? Are there no 
longer rivers in Italy ? Bring me a cup of water, 
and put out this fire ! 

Guido. Oh, God ! 

Beatrice. Why do you hide from me that in 
Italy there is only dryness, no water, only fire ? 

Guido. Love ! 

Beatrice. Send for the doctor, but not the 
one who staunched my husband's blood. Bring a 
doctor without delay! There is an antidote for 
every poison. He will sell it to us for a large 
reward. Tell him that for one brief hour of life 
Padua shall be his. I will not die. I am ill unto 
death. Do not touch me; poison is gnawing at 
my heart. I did not know that dying was such 
pain. I thought life had taken all the heartache 
for its own. It seems it is not so. 

Guido. Accursed stars, quench your light in 
tears and bid your mistress, the moon, turn pale 
to-night. 

Beatrice. What are you doing here, beloved ? 
This chamber is poorly decorated for a bridal 
room. Come, let us go as fast as possible. Where 



Il8 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

are the horses? We ought to be half way to 
Venice now. How cold the night is ! Let us ride 
faster. Are not these our wedding-bells, Guido? 
{The monks outside begin their chanting.) Mu- 
sic! It might be gayer; but sorrow is now the 
fashion. Why, I do not know. Why are you 
weeping? Do we not love each other? Nothing 
more is needed. Death, what seekest thou here? 
Thou wert not invited to this table ; begone, 
thou'rt intruding. I tell thee I drank thy health 
with wine, and not with poison. They Hed who 
said that I had drunk thy poison; it was poured 
out like my husband's blood. Thou camest too 
late. 

GuiDO. There is nothing here, my darling; 
these are immaterial phantoms. 

Beatrice. Death, why dost thou linger? Go 
to the upper room ; the cold meat of my husband's 
funeral banquet stands there for thee; here is a 
bridal feast. You are in the wrong place. It is 
summer, too ; we do not need so fierce a fire ; you 
are scorching us. Guido, let the grave-diggers 
stop shoveling this grave. I will not be buried in 
it. I am burning, burning, melting with the in- 
ternal fire. Can you do nothing? Give me wa- 
ter; give me water, or else more poison. The 
pain is over now. How strange ! I feel no suf- 
fering. Death has gone ; how I rejoice. I thought 



Act V] THE DUCHESS OF PADUA IIQ 

he was trying to part us. Tell me, Guido, do you 
regret that you ever saw me ? 

Guido. What would my life have been without 
you? Many have died in this dull, stupid world 
seeking for such a moment as this, and did not 
find it. 

Beatrice. Then you do not regret it? How 
strange ! 

Guido. Have I not feasted on beauty, Be- 
atrice ? That is enough for a man's life. I could 
jest. I was far more sorrowful at many a fes- 
tival. But who can be sorrowful at such a feast, 
where death and love are our cup-bearers? We 
are united in love and death. 

Beatrice. I was guilty above all women, and 
am punished for it above all women. What do 
you think? It is not possible. Can love efface 
blood from my hands, drop balm into my wounds, 
heal my scars, and wash my scarlet sins snow- 
white? I have sinned much. 

Guido. He does not sin who acts for love's 
sake. 

Beatrice. I have sinned, and yet perhaps it 
will be forgiven me. I have loved much. ( They 
now give each other the first kiss in this act. 
Suddenly the Duchess starts up in a terrible con- 
vulsion, tears in her agony at her robes, and at 
last falls back lifeless in her chair, with her face 



120 THE DUCHESS OF PADUA [Act V 

disfigured and drawn by suffering. Guido takes 
the dagger from her girdle, kills himself with it, 
and as he falls across her knees, draws the cloak 
hanging over the hack of the chair, and covers 
her entirely. A short pause. Then the tramp of 
soldiers is heard in the corridor, the door is 
opened, the Chief Judge, the executioner, and the 
guard enter and see the black-draped figure and 
Guido, who lies obliquely across it. The Chief 
Judge rushes forward and draws the mantle 
away from the Duchess, whose face is now the 
marble image of peace — a sign that God has 
pardoned her. 

END. 



SALOME 



SALOME 

A PLAY 



BY 

OSCAR WILDE 



NEW YORK 
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

1906 



CHARACTERS. 

Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Judaea, 

loKANAAN, the Prophet. 

The Young Syrian, Captain of the Guard. 

TiGELLiNus, a Young Roman. 

A Cappadocian, 

A Nubian. 

First Soldier. 

Second Soldier. 

The Page of Herodias. 

Jews, Nazarenes, etc. 

A Slave. 

Naaman, the Executioner. 

Herodias, Wife of the Tetrarch. 

Salome, Daughter of Herodias. 

The Slaves of Salome. 



SALOME. 

Scene — A great terrace in the Palace of 
Herod, set above the banqiteting-hall. Some sol- 
diers are leaning over the balcony. To the right 
there is a gigantic staircase, to the left, at the 
back, an old cistern surrounded by a zvall of 
green bronze. The moon is shining very brightly. 

The Young Syrian. How beautiful is the 
Princess Salome to-night ! 

The Page of Herodias. Look at the moon. 
How strange the moon seems ! She is like a 
woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead 
woman. One might fancy she was looking for 
dead things. 

The Young Syrian. She has a strange look. 
She is like a little princess who wears a yellow 
veil, and whose feet are of silver. She is like 
a princess who has little white doves for feet. 
One might fancy she was dancing. 

The Page of Herodias. She is like a woman 
who is dead. She moves very slowly. {Noise 
in the banqueting-hall.) 

[7] 



8 SALOMfi 

First Soldier. What an uproar! Who are 
those wild beasts howling? 

Second Soldier. The Jews. They are al- 
ways like that. They are disputing about their 
religion. 

First Soldier. Why do they dispute about 
their religion? 

Second Soldier. I cannot tell. They are al- 
ways doing it. The Pharisees, for instance, say 
that there are angels, and the Sadducees declare 
that angels do not exist. 

First Soldier. I think it is ridiculous to dis- 
pute about such things. 

The Young Syrian. How beautiful is the 
Princess Salome to-night ! 

The Page of Herodias. You are always 
looking at her. You look at her too much. It 
is dangerous to look at people in such fashion. 
Something terrible may happen. 

The Young Syrian. She is very beautiful 
to-night. 

First Soldier. The Tetrarch has a sombre 
aspect. 

Second Soldier. Yes; he has a sombre as- 
pect. 

First Soldier. He is looking at something. 

Second Soldier. He is looking at some one. 

First Soldier. At whom is he looking? 



SALOME 9 

Second Soldier. I cannot tell. 

The Young Syrian. How pale the Princess 
is ! Never have I seen her so pale. She is like 
the shadow of a white rose in a mirror of silver. 

The Page of Herodias. You must not look 
at her. You look too much at her. 

First Soldier. Herodias has filled the cup 
of the Tetrarch. 

The Cappadocian. Is that the Queen Hero- 
dias, she who wears a black mitre sewed with 
pearls, and whose hair is powdered with blue 
dust? 

First Soldier. Yes; that is Herodias, the 
Tetrarch's wife. 

Second Soldier. The Tetrarch is very fond 
of wine. He has wine of three sorts. One 
which is brought from the Island of Samothrace, 
and is purple like the cloak of Caesar. 

The Cappadocian. I have never seen Caesar. 

Second Soldier. Another that comes from a 
town called Cyprus, and is as yellow as gold. 

The Cappadocian. I love gold. 

Second Soldier. And the third is a wine of 
Sicily. That wine is as red as blood. 

The Nubian. The gods of my country are 
very fond of blood. Twice in the year we sacri- 
fice to them young men and maidens ; fifty young 
men and a hundred maidens. But I am afraid 



10 SALOME 

that we never give them quite enough, for they 
are very harsh to us. 

The Cappadocian. In my country there are 
no gods left. The Romans have driven them 
out. There are some who say that they have hid- 
den themselves in the mountains, but I do not 
believe it. Three nights I have been on the 
mountains seeking them everywhere. I did not 
find them, and at last I called them by their 
names, and they did not come. I think they are 
dead. 

First Soldier. The Jews worship a God that 
one cannot see. 

The Cappadocian. I cannot understand that. 

First Soldier. In fact, they only believe in 
things that one cannot see. 

The Cappadocian. That seems to me alto- 
gether ridiculous. 

The Voice of Iokanaan. After me shall 
come another mightier than I. I am not worthy 
so much as to unloose the latchet of his shoes. 
When he cometh the solitary places shall be glad. 
They shall blossom like the rose. The eyes of 
the blind shall see the day, and the ears of the 
deaf shall be opened. The sucking child shall 
put his hand upon the dragon's lair, he shall 
lead the lions by their manes. 



SALOME 1 1 

Second Soldier. Make him be silent. He is 
always saying ridiculous things. 

First Soldier. No, no. He is a holy man. 
He is very gentle, too. Every day when I give 
him to eat he thanks me. 

The Cappadocian. Who is he? 

First Soldier. A prophet. 

The Cappadocian. What is his name? 

First Soldier. lokanaan. 

The Cappadocian. Whence comes he? 

First Soldier. From the desert, where he 
fed on locusts and wild honey. He was clothed 
in camel's hair, and round his loins he had a 
leathern belt. He was very terrible to look 
upon. A great multitude used to follow him. 
He even had disciples. 

The Cappadocian. What is he talking of? 

First Soldier. We can never tell. Some- 
times he says things that affright one, but it is 
impossible to understand what he says. 

The Cappadocian. May one see him? 

First Soldier. No. The Tetrarch has for- 
bidden it. 

The Young Syrian. The Princess has hid- 
den her face behind her fan! Her little white 
hands are fluttering like doves that fly to their 
dove-cots. They are like white butterflies. They 
are just like white butterflies. 



12 SALOME 

The Page of Herodias. What is that to you ? 
Why do you look at her ? You must not look at 
her. Something terrible may happen. 

The Capadocian (pointing to the cistern). 
What a strange prison ! 

Second Soldier. It is an old cistern. 

The Cappadocian. An old cistern ! That 
must be a poisonous place in which to dwell ! 

Second Soldier. Oh, no! For instance, the 
Tetrarch's brother, his elder brother, the first 
husband of Herodias, the Queen, was impris- 
oned there for twelve years. It did not kill him. 
At the end of the twelve years he had to be 
strangled. 

The Cappadocian. Strangled? Who dared 
to do that? 

Second Soldier (pointing to the executioner, 
a huge negro). That man yonder, Naaman. 

The Cappadocian. He was not afraid? 

Second Soldier. Oh, no ! The Tetrarch sent 
him the ring. 

The Cappadocian. What ring? 

Second Soldier. The death ring. So he was 
not afraid. 

The Cappadocian. Yet it is a terrible thing 
to strangle a king. 

First Soldier. Why? Kings have but one 
neck, like other folk. 



SALOME 13 

The Cappadocian. I think it terrible. 

The Young Syrian. The Princess is getting 
up! She is leaving the table! She looks very 
troubled. Ah, she is coming this way. Yes, 
she is coming towards us. How pale she is ! 
Never have I seen her so pale. 

The Page of Herodias. Do not look at her. 
I pray you not to look at her. 

The Young Syrian. She is like a dove that 
has strayed. She is like a narcissus trembling 
in the wind. She is like a silver flower. {Enters 
Salome.) 

Salome. I will not stay. I cannot stay. 
Why does the Tetrarch look at me all the while 
with his mole's eyes under his shaking eyelids? 
It is strange that the husband of my mother 
looks at me like that. I know not what it means. 
Of a truth, I know it too well. 

The Young Syrian. You have left the feast, 
Princess ? 

Salome. How sweet is the air here ! I can 
breathe here ! Within there are Jews from Jeru- 
salem who are tearing each other in pieces over 
their foolish ceremonies, and barbarians who 
drink and drink, and spill their wine on the pave- 
ment, and Greeks from Smyrna with painted eyes 
and painted cheeks, and frizzed hair curled in 
columns, and Egyptians silent and subtle, with 



14 SALOME 

long nails of jade and russet cloaks, and Romans 
brutal and coarse, with their uncouth jargon. 
Ah ! how I loathe the Romans ! They are rough 
and common, and they give themselves the airs 
of noble lords. 

The Young Syrian. Will you be seated, 
Princess ? 

The Page of Herodias. Why do you speak 
to her ? Oh ! something terrible will happen. 
Why do you look at her ? 

Salome. How good to see the moon ! She is 
like a little piece of money, a little silver flower. 
She is cold and chaste. I am sure she is a virgin. 
She has the beauty of a virgin. Yes, she is a vir- 
gin. She has never defiled herself. She has 
never abandoned herself to men, like the other 
goddesses. 

The Voice of Iokanaan. Behold ! the Lord 
hath come. The Son of Man is at hand. The 
centaurs have hidden themselves in the rivers, 
and the nymphs have left the rivers, and are 
lying beneath the leaves in the forests. 

Salome. Who was that who cried out? 

Second Soldier. The prophet, Princess. 

Salome. Ah, the prophet! He of whom the 
Tetrarch is afraid? 

Second Soldier. We know nothing of that^ 



SALOME 15 

Princess. It was the prophet lokanaan who 
cried out. 

The Young Soldier. Is it your pleasure that 
I bid them bring your Htter, Princess? The 
night is fair in the garden. 

Salome. He says terrible things about my 
mother, does he not? 

Second Soldier. We never understand what 
he says, Princess. 

Salome. Yes; he says terrible things about 
her. (Enter a slave.) 

The Slave. Princess, the Tetrarch prays you 
to return to the feast. 

Salome. I will not return. 

The Young Syrian. Pardon me. Princess, 
but if you return not some misfortune may hap- 
pen. 

Salome. Is he an old man, this prophet? 

The Young Syrian. Princess, it were better 
to return. Suffer me to lead you in. 

Salome. This prophet, is he an old man? 

First Soldier. No, Princess, he is quite 
young. 

Second Soldier. One cannot be sure. There 
are those who say that he is Elias. 
Salome. Who is Elias? 

Second Soldier. A prophet of this country 
in bygone days, Princess. 



1 6 SALOME 

The Slave. What answer may I give the 
Tetrarch from the Princess? 

The Voice of Iokanaan. Rejoice not, O 
land of Palestine, because the rod of him who 
smote thee is broken. For from the seed of the 
serpent shall come a basilisk, and that which is 
born of it shall devour the birds. 

Salome. What a strange voice! I would 
speak with him. 

First Soldier. I fear it may not be, Princess. 
The Tetrarch does not suffer any one to speak 
with him. He has even forbidden the high priest 
to speak with him. 

Salome. I desire to speak with him. 

First Soldier. It is impossible, Princess. 

Salome. I will speak with him. 

The Young Syrian. Would it not be better 
to return to the banquet ? 

Salome. Bring forth this prophet. (EA;it the 
slave.) 

First Soldier. We dare not, Princess. 

Salome (approaching the cistern and looking 
down into it). How black it is down there! It 
must be terrible to be in so black a hole ! It is 
like a tomb. (To the soldiers.) Did you not 
hear me? Bring out the prophet. I would look 
on him. 



SALOME 17 

Second Soldier. Princess, I beg you, do not 
require this of us. 

Salome. You are making me wait upon your 
pleasure. 

First Soldier, Princess, our lives belong to 
you, but we cannot do what you have asked of 
us. And indeed, it is not of us that you should 
ask this thing. 

Salome (looking at the young Syrian). Ah! 

The Page of Herodias. Oh, what is going 
to happen? I am sure that something terrible 
will happen. 

Salome (going up to the young Syrian). 
Thou wilt do this thing for me, wilt thou not, 
Narraboth? Thou wilt do this thing for me. 
I have ever been kind towards thee. Thou wilt 
do it for me. I would but look at him, this 
strange prophet. Men have talked so much of 
him. Often I have heard the Tetrarch talk of 
him. I think he is afraid of him, the Tetrarch. 
Art thou, even thou, also afraid of him, Narra- 
both? 

The Young Syrian. I fear him not. Prin- 
cess ; there is no man I fear. But the Tetrarch 
has formally forbidden that any man should 
raise the cover of this well. 

Salome. Thou wilt do this thing for me, Nar- 
raboth, and to-morrow when I pass in my litter 



1 8 SALOME 

beneath the gateway of the idol-sellers I will let 
fall for thee a little flower, a little green flower. 

The Young Syrian. Princess, I cannot, I 
cannot. 

Salome (siniling). Thou wilt do this thing 
for me, Narraboth. Thou knowest that thou wilt 
do this thing for me. And on the morrow when 
I shall pass in my litter by the bridge of the 
idol-buyers, I will look at thee through the mus- 
lin veils ; I will look at thee, Narraboth ; it may 
be I will smile at thee. Look at me, Narraboth ; 
look at me. Ah! thou knowest that thou wilt 
do what I ask of thee. Thou knowest it. I 
know that thou wilt do this thing. 

The Young Syrian (signijig to the third 
soldier). Let the prophet come forth. The 
Princess Salome desires to see him. 

Salome. Ah ! 

The Page of Herodias. Oh! How strange 
the moon looks ! Like the hand of a dead woman 
who is seeking to cover herself with a shroud. 

The Young Syrian. She has a strange as- 
pect! She is like a little Princess, whose eyes 
are eyes of amber. Through the clouds of mus- 
lin she is smiling like a little Princess. {The 
prophet comes out of the cistern. Salome looks 
at him and steps slozvly hack.) 

Iokanaan. Where is he whose cup of abom- 



SALOME ig 

inations is now full ? Where is he, who in a robe 
of silver shall one day die in the face of all the 
people? Bid him come forth, that he may hear 
the voice of him who hath cried in the waste 
places and in the houses of kings. 

Salome. Of whom is he speaking? 

The Young Syrian. No one can tell, Prin- 
cess. 

loKANAAN. Where is she who saw the images 
of men painted on the walls, even the images 
of the Chaldseans painted with colors, and gave 
herself up unto the lust of her eyes, and sent 
ambassadors into the land of the Chaldsea? 

Salome. It is of my mother that he is speak- 
ing. 

The Young Syrian. Oh, no. Princess. 

Salome. Yes; it is of my mother that he is 
speaking. 

Iokanaan. Where is she who gave herself 
unto the Captains of Assyria, who have baldricks 
on their loins, and crowns of many colors on 
their heads ? Where is she who hath given her- 
self to the young men of the Egyptians, who are 
clothed in fine linen and hyacinth, whose shields 
are of gold, whose helmets are of silver, whose 
bodies are mighty? Go, bid her rise up from 
the bed of her abominations, from the bed of 
her incestuousness, that she may hear the words 



20 SALOME 

of him who prepareth the way of the Lord, that 
she may repent of her iniquities. Though she 
will not repent, but will stick fast in her abom- 
inations, go bid her come, for the fan of the 
Lord is in His hand. 

Salome. Ah, but he is terrible, he is ter- 
rible! 

The Young Syrian. Do not stay here, Prin- 
cess, I beseech you. 

Salome. It is his eyes above all that are ter- 
rible. They are like black holes burned by 
torches in the tapestry of Tyre. They are like 
the black cavern where the dragons live, the 
black caverns of Egypt, in which the dragons 
make their lairs. They are like black lakes 
troubled by fantastic moons. Do you think he 
will speak again? 

The Young Syrian. Do not stay here. Prin- 
cess. I pray you do not stay here. 

Salome. How wasted he is ! He is like a 
thin ivory statue. He is like an image of silver. 
I am sure he is chaste, as the moon is. He is 
like a moonbeam, like a shaft of silver. His 
flesh must be very cold, cold as ivory. I would 
look closer at him. 

The Young Syrian. No, no, Princess! 

Salome. I must look at him closer. 

The Young Syrian. Princess! Princess! 



SALOME 2t 

loKANAAN. Who is this woman who is look- 
ing at me? I will not have her look at me. 
Wherefore doth she look at me with her golden 
eyes, under her gilded eyelids? I know not 
who she is. I do not desire to know who she is. 
Bid her begone. It is not to her that I would 
speak. 

Salome. I am Salome, daughter of Herodias, 
Princess of Judaea. 

loKANAAN. Back! daughter of Babylon! 
Come not near the chosen of the Lord. Thy 
mother hath filled the earth with the wine of her 
iniquities, and the cry of her sinning hath come 
up even to the ears of God. 

Salome. Speak again, lokanaan. Thy voice 
is as music to mine ear. 

The Young Syrian. Princess! Princess! 
Princess ! 

Salome. Speak again! Speak again, loka- 
naan, and tell me what I must do. 

loKANAAN. Daughter of Sodom, come not 
near me ! But cover thy face with a veil, and 
scatter ashes upon thine head, and get thee to the 
desert, and seek out the Son of Man. 

Salome. Who is he, the Son of Man ? Is he 
as beautiful as thou art, lokanaan ? 

Iokanaan. Get thee behind me! I hear in 



22 SALOME 

the palace the beating of the wings of the angel 
of death. 

The Young Syrian. Princess, I beseech thee 
to go within. 

loKANAAN. Angel of the Lord God, what dost 
thou here with thy sword? Whom seekest thou 
in the palace ? The day of him who shall die in 
a robe of silver has not yet come. 

Salome. lokanaan ! 

loKANAAN. Who spcakcth ? 

Salome. I am amorous of thy body, loka- 
naan ! Thy body is white, like the lilies of the 
field that the mower hath never mowed. Thy 
body is white like the snows that lie on the 
mountains of Judsea, and come down into the 
valleys. The roses in the gardens of the Queen 
of Arabia are not so white as thy body. Neither 
the roses in the garden of the Queen of Arabia, 
the garden of spices of the Queen of Arabia, nor 
the feet of the dawn when they light on the 
leaves, nor the breast of the moon when she lies 
on the breast of the sea. There is nothing in 
this world so white as thy body. Suffer me to 
touch thy body. 

Iokanaan. Back ! daughter of Babylon ! By 
woman came evil into the world. Speak not to 
me. I will not listen to thee. I listen but to the 
voice of the Lord God. 



SALOME 23 

Salome. Thy body is hideous. It is like the 
body of a leper. It is like a plastered wall, 
where vipers have crawled ; like a plastered wall 
where the scorpions have made their nest. It is 
like a whited sepulchre, full of loathsome things. 
It is horrible ; thy body is horrible. It is of thy 
hair I ani enamoured, lokanaan. Thy hair is like 
clusters of grapes, like the clusters of black 
grapes that hang from the vine-trees of Edom 
in the land of the Edomites. Thy hair is like the 
cedars of Lebanon, like the great cedars of 
Lebanon that give their shade to the lions and 
to the robbers who would hide them by day. The 
long black nights, when the moon hides her face, 
when the stars are afraid, are not so black as thy 
hair. The silence that dwells in the forest is not 
so black. There is nothing in the world that is 
so black as thy hair. Suffer me to touch thy 
hair. 

loKANAAN. Back, daughter of Sodom ! Touch 
me not. Profane not the temple of the Lord 
God. 

Salome. Thy hair Is horrible. It is covered 
with mire and dust. It is like a crown of thorns 
placed on thy head. It is like a knot of serpents 
coiled round thy neck. I love not thy hair. It is 
thy mouth that I desire, lokanaan. Thy mouth 
is like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory. 



24 SALOME 

It is like a pomegranate cut in twain with a knife 
of ivory. The pomegranate flowers that blossom 
in the gardens of Tyre, and are redder than 
roses, are not so red. The red blasts of trum- 
pets that herald the approach of kings, and make 
afraid the enemy, are not so red. Thy mouth is 
redder than the feet of those who tread the wine 
in the wine-press. It is redder than the feet of 
the doves who inhabit the temples and are fed 
by the priests. It is redder than the feet of him 
who Cometh from a forest where he hath slain a 
lion, and seen gilded tigers. Thy mouth is like 
a branch of coral that fishers have found in the 
twilight of the sea, the coral that they keep for 
the kings ! It is like the vermilion that the Mo- 
abites find in the mines of Moab, the vermilion 
that the kings take from them. It is like the bow 
of the King of the Persians, that is tinted with 
vermilion, and is tipped with coral. There is 
nothing in the world so red as thy mouth. Suf- 
fer me to kiss thy mouth. 

loKANAAN. Never! daughter of Babylon! 
Daughter of Sodom ! never ! 

Salome. I will kiss thy mouth lokanaan. I 
will kiss thy mouth. 

The Young Syrian. Princess, Princess, thou 
who art like a garden of myrrh, thou who art the 
dove of all doves, look not at this man, look not 



SALOME 25 

at him! Do not speak such words to him. I 
cannot endure it. Princess, do not speak these 
things. 

Salome. I will kiss thy mouth, lokanaan. 

The Young Syrian. Ah! (He kills himself, 
and falls between Salome and lokanaan.) 

The Page of Herodias. The young Syrian 
has slain himself! The young captain has slain 
himself! He has slain himself who was my 
friend ! I gave him a little box of perfumes and 
ear-rings WTOught in silver, and now he has killed 
himself! Ah, did he not say that some misfor- 
tune would happen? I, too, said it, and it has 
come to pass. Well I knew that the moon was 
seeking a dead thing, but I knew not that it was 
he whom she sought. Ah ! why did I not hide 
him from the moon? If I had hidden him in a 
cavern she would not have seen him. 

First Soldier. Princess, the young captain 
has just slain himself. 

Salome. Suffer me to kiss thy mouth, loka- 
naan. 

Iokanaan. Art thou not afraid, daughter of 
Herodias ? Did I not tell thee that I heard in the 
palace the beating of the wings of the angel of 
death, and hath he not come, the angel of death ? 

Salome. Suffer me to kiss thy mouth. 

Iokanaan. Daughter of adultery, there is but 



26 SALOME 

one who can save thee. It is He of whom I 
spake. Go seek Him. He is in a boat on the 
sea of Galilee, and He talketh with His disciples. 
Kneel down on the shore of the sea, and call unto 
Him by His name. When He cometh to thee, 
and to all who call on Him He cometh, bow 
thyself at His feet and ask of Him the remis- 
sion of thy sins. 

Salome. Suffer me to kiss thy mouth. 

loKANAAN. Cursed be thou! Daughter of 
an incestuous mother, be thou accursed ! 

Salome. I will kiss thy mouth, lokanaan. 

loKANAAN. I will not look at thee. Thou art 
accursed, Salome; thou art accursed. {He goes 
doivn into the cistern.) 

Salome. I will kiss thy mouth, lokanaan. I 
will kiss thy mouth. 

First Soldier. We must bear away the body 
to another place. The Tetrarch does not care to 
see dead bodies, save the bodies of those whom 
he himself has slain. 

The Page of Herodias. He was my brother, 
and nearer to me than a brother. I gave him a 
little box of perfumes, and a ring of agate that 
he wore always on his hand. In the evening we 
were wont to walk by the river, and among the 
almond-trees, and he used to tell me of the 
things of his country. He spake ever very low. 



SALOME 2'J 

The sound of his voice was like the sound of the 
flute, of one who playeth upon the flute. Also 
he had much joy to gaze at himself in the river. 
I used to reproach him for that. 

Second Soldier. You are right; we must 
hide the body. The Tetrarch must not see it. 

First Soldier. The Tetrarch will not come 
to this place. He never comes on the terrace. 
He is too much afraid of the prophet. (Enter 
Herod, Herodias, and all the Court.) 

Herod. Where is Salome? Where is the 
Princess? Why did she not return to the ban- 
quet as I commanded her ? Ah ! there she is ! 

Herodias. You must not look at her! You 
are always looking at her ! 

Herod. The moon has a strange look to- 
night. Has she not a strange look? She is like 
a mad woman, and a mad woman who is seeking 
everywhere for lovers. She is naked, too. She 
is quite naked. The clouds are seeking to clothe 
her nakedness, but she will not let them. She 
shows herself naked in the sky. She reels 
through the clouds like a drunken woman. I 
am sure she is looking for lovers. Does she not 
reel like a drunken woman? She is like a mad 
woman, is she not? 

Herodias. No; the moon is like the moon. 



28 SALOME 

that is all. Let us go within. We have nothing 
to do here. 

Herod. I will stay here ! Manasseh, lay car- 
pets there. Light torches. Bring forth the ivory 
tables, and the tables of jasper. The air here 
is sweet. I will drink more wine with my guests. 
We must show all honor to the ambassadors of 
Caesar. 

Herodias. It is not because of them that you 
remain. 

Herod. Yes ; the air is very sweet. Come, 
Herodias, our guests await us. Ah ! I have 
slipped ! I have slipped in blood ! It is an ill 
omen. It is a very ill omen. Wherefore is there 
blood here? And this body, what does this 
body here? Think you I am like the King of 
Egypt, who gives no feast to his guests but that 
he shows them a corpse? Whose is it? I will 
not look on it. 

First Soldier. It is our captain, sire. It is 
the young Syrian whom you made captain of the 
guard but three days gone. 

Herod. I issued no order that he should be 
slain. 

Second Soldier. He slew himself, sire. 

Herod. For what reason? I had made him 
captain of my guard ! 



SALOME 2g 

Second Soldier. We do not know, sire. But 
with his own hand he slew himself. 

Herod. That seems strange to me. I had 
thought it was but the Roman philosophers who 
slew themselves. Is it not true, Tigellinus, that 
the philosophers at Rome slay themselves ? 

Tigellinus. There be some who slay them- 
selves, sire. They are the Stoics. The Stoics 
are people of no cultivation. They are ridiculous 
people. I myself regard them as being perfectly 
ridiculous. 

Herod. I also. It is ridiculous to kill one's 
self. 

Tigellinus. Everybody at Rome laughs at 
them. The Emperor has written a satire against 
them. It is recited everywhere. 

Herod. Ah! he has written a satire against 
them? Caesar is wonderful. He can do every- 
thing. It is strange that the young Syrian has 
slain himself. I am sorry he has slain himself. 
I am very sorry. For he was fair to look upon. 
He was even very fair. He had very languorous 
eyes. I remember that I saw that he looked lan- 
guorously at Salome. Truly, I thought he 
looked too much at her. 

Herodias. There are others who look too 
much at her. 

Herod. His father was a king. I drove him 



30 SALOME 

from his kingdom. And of his mother, who was 
a queen, you made a slave, Herodias. So he was 
here as my guest, as it were, and for that reason 
I made him my captain. I am sorry he is dead. 
Ho ! why have you left the body here ? It must 
be taken to some other place. I will not look at 
it, — away with it! {They take away the body.) 
It is cold here. There is a wind blowing. Is 
there not a wind blowing? 

Herodias. No; there is no wind. 

Herod. I tell you there is a wind that blows. 
And I hear in the air something that is like the 
beating of wings, like the beating of vast wings. 
Do you not hear it? 

Herodias. I hear nothing. 

Herod. I hear it no longer. But I heard it. 
It was the blowing of the wind. It has passed 
away. But no, I hear it again. Do you not 
hear it? It is just like a beating of wings. 

Herodias. I tell you there is nothing. You 
are ill. Let us go within. 

Herod. I am not ill. It is your daughter who 
is sick to death. Never have I seen her so pale. 

Herodias. I have told you not to look at her. 

Herod. Pour me forth wine. (Wine is 
brought.) Salome, come drink a little wine with 
me. I have here a wine that is exquisite. Caesar 



SALOME 31 

himself sent it me. Dip into it thy httle red hps, 
that I may drain the cup. 

Salome. I am not thirsty, Tetrarch. 

Herod. You hear how she answers me, this 
daughter of yours? 

Herodl\s. She does right. Why are you al- 
ways gazing at her? 

Herod. Bring me ripe fruits. (Fruits are 
brought.) Salome, come and eat fruits with me. 
I love to see in a fruit the mark of thy little 
teeth. Bite but a little of this fruit, that I may 
eat what is left. 

Salome. I am not hungry, Tetrarch. 

Herod (to Herodias). You see how you have 
brought up this daughter of yours. 

Herodias. My daughter and I come of a 
royal race. As for thee, thy father was a camel 
driver ! He was a thief and a robber to boot ! 

Herod. Thou liest ! 

Herodias. Thou knowest well that it is true. 

Herod. Salome, come and sit next to me. I 
will give thee the throne of thy mother. 

Salome. I am not tired, Tetrarch. 

Herodias. You see in what regard she holds 
you. 

Herod. Bring me What is it that I desire ? 

I forget. Ah ! ah ! I remember. 

The VqJCE of Iokanaan. Behold, the time 



^2 SALOME 

is come ! That which I foretold has come to 
pass. The day that I spake of is at hand. 

Herodias. Bid him be silent. I will not listen 
to his voice. This man is forever hurling insults 
against me. 

Herod. He has said nothing against you. Be- 
sides, he is a very great prophet. 

Herodias. I do not believe in prophets. Can 
a man tell what will come to pass? No man 
knows it. Also, he is forever insulting me. But 
I think you are afraid of him. I know well that 
you are afraid of him. 

Herod. I am not afraid of him. I am afraid 
of no man. 

Herodias. I tell you you are afraid of him. 
If you are not afraid of him, why do you not de- 
liver him to the Jews, who for these six months 
past have been clamoring for him? 

A Jew. Truly, my lord, it were better to de- 
liver him into our hands. 

Herod. Enough on this subject. I have al- 
ready given you my answer. I will not deliver 
him into your hands. He is a holy man. He is 
a man who has seen God. 

A Jew. That cannot be. There is no man 
who hath seen God since the prophet Elias. He 
is the last man who saw God face to face. In 
these days God doth not show Himself. God 



SALOME 33 

hideth Himself. Therefore great evils have come 
upon the land. 

Another Jew. Verily, no man knoweth if 
Elias the prophet did indeed see God. Perad- 
venture it was but the shadow of God that he 
saw. 

A Third Jew. God is at no time hidden. He 
showeth Himself at all times and in all places. 
God is in what is evil even as He is in what is 
good. 

A Fourth Jew. Thou shouldst not say that. 
It is a very dangerous doctrine. It is a doctrine 
that Cometh from Alexandria, where men teach 
the philosophy of the Greeks. And the Greeks 
are Gentiles. They are not even circumsized. 

A Fifth Jew. No man can tell how God 
worketh. His ways are very dark. It may be 
that the things which we call evil are good, and 
that the things which we call good are evik 
There is no knowledge of anything. We can 
but bow our heads to His will, for God is very 
strong. He breaketh in pieces the strong to- 
gether with the weak, for He regardeth not any 
man. 

First Jew. Thou speakest truly. Verily, God 
is terrible. He breaketh in pieces the strong and 
the weak as men break corn in a mortar. But 



34 iALOME 

as for this man, he hath never seen God. No 
man hath seen God since the prophet EHas. 

Herodias. Make them be silent. They weary 
me. 

Herod. But I have heard it said that loka- 
naan is in very truth your prophet EUas. 

The Jew. That cannot be. It is more than 
three hundred years since the days of the prophet 
Elias. 

Herod. There be some who say that this man 
is EHas the prophet. 

A Nazarene. I am sure that he is Elias the 
prophet. 

The Jew. Nay, but he is not Elias the 
prophet. 

The Voice of Iokanaan. Behold the day is 
at hand, the day of the Lord, and I hear upon 
the mountains the feet of Him who shall be the 
Saviour of the world. 

Herod. What does that mean? The Saviour 
of the world ? 

TiGELLiNUS. It is a title that Caesar adopts. 

Herod. But Caesar is not coming into Judaea. 
Only yesterday I received letters from Rome. 
They contained nothing concerning this matter. 
And you, Tigellinus, who were at Rome during 
the winter, you heard nothing concerning this 
matter, did you? 



SALOME 35 

TiGELLiNUS. Sire, I heard nothing concern- 
ing the matter. I was but explaining the title. 
It is one of Caesar's titles. 

Herod. But Caesar cannot come. He is too 
gouty. They say that his feet are like the feet 
of an elephant. Also there are reasons of state. 
He who leaves Rome loses Rome. He will not 
come. Howbeit, Caesar is lord, he will come if 
such be his pleasure. Nevertheless, I think he 
will not come. 

First Nazarene. It was not concerning 
Caesar that the prophet spake these words, sire. 

Herod. How ? — it was not concerning Caesar ? 

First Nazarene. No, my lord. 

Herod. Concerning whom then did he speak? 

First Nazarene. Concerning Messias, who 
hath come. 

A Jew. Messias hath not come. 

First Nazarene. He hath come, and every- 
where He worketh miracles ! 

Herodias. Ho! ho! miracles! I do not be- 
lieve in miracles. I have seen too many. {To 
the Page.) My fan. 

First Nazarene. This Man worketh true 
miracles. Thus, at a marriage which took place 
in a little town of Galilee, a town of some im- 
portance, He changed water into wine. Certain 
persons who were present related it to me. Also 



36 SALOME 

He healed two lepers that were seated before the 
Gate of Capernaum simply by touching them. 

Second Nazarene. Nay; it was two blind 
men that He healed at Capernaum. 

First Nazarene. Nay; they were lepers. 
But He hath healed blind people also, and He 
was seen on a mountain talking with angels. 

A Sadducee. Angels do not exist. 

A Pharisee. Angels exist, but I do not be- 
lieve that this Man has talked with them. 

First Nazarene. He was seen by a great 
multitude of people talking with angels. 

Herodias. How these men weary me ! They 
are ridiculous ! They are altogether ridiculous ! 
{To the Page.) Well! my fan? {The Page 
gives her the fan.) You have a dreamer's look. 
You must not dream. It is only sick people who 
dream. {She strikes the Page with her fan.) 

Second Nazarene. There is also the miracle 
of the daughter of Jairus. 

First Nazarene. Yea, that is sure. No man 
can gainsay it. 

Herodias. Those men are mad. They have 
looked too long on the moon. Command them 
to be silent. 

Herod. What is this mirjacle of the daughter 
of Jairus? 



SALOME 37 

First Nazarene. The daughter of Jairus was 
dead. This Man raised her from the dead. 

Herod. How ! He raises people from the 
dead? 

First Nazarene. Yea, sire; He raiseth the 
dead. 

Herod. I do not wish Him to do that. I for- 
bid Him to do that. I suffer no man to raise the 
dead. This Man must be found and told that I 
forbid Him to raise the dead. Where is this 
Man at present? 

Second Nazarene. He is in every place, my 
lord, but it is hard to find Him. 

First Nazarene. It is said that He is now in 
Samaria. 

A Jew. It is easy to see that this is not Mes- 
sias, if He is in Samaria. It is not to the Samar- 
itans that Messias shall come. The Samaritans 
are accursed. They bring no offerings to the 
Temple. 

Second Nazarene. He left Samaria a few 
days since. I think that at the present moment 
He is in the neighbourhood of Jerusalem. 

First Nazarene. No; He is not there. I 
have just come from Jerusalem. For two 
months they have had no tidings of Him. 

Herod. No matter! But let them find Him, 
and tell Him, thus saith Herod the King, T will 



3^ SALOME 

not suffer Thee to raise the dead.' To change 
water into wine, to heal the lepers and the blind. 
He may do these things if He will. I say noth- 
ing against these things. In truth I hold it a 
kindly deed to heal a leper. But no man shall 
raise the dead. It would be terrible if the dead 
came back. 

The Voice of Iokanaan. Ah ! The wanton 
one! The harlot! Ah! the daughter of Baby- 
lon with her golden eyes and her gilded eyelids ! 
Thus saith the Lord God, Let there come up 
against her a multitude of men. Let the people 
take stones and stone her. 

Herodias. Command him to be silent ! 

The Voice of Iokanaan. Let the captains 
of the hosts pierce her with their swords, let 
them crush her beneath their shields. 

Herodias. Nay, but it is infamous. 

The Voice of Iokanaan. It is thus that I 
will wipe out all wickedness from the earth, and 
that all women shall learn not to imitate her 
abominations. 

Herodias. You hear what he says against 
me? You suffer him to revile her who is your 
wife! 

Herod. He did not speak your name. 

Herodias. What does that matter? You 



SALOME 39 

know well that it is I whom he seeks to revile. 
And I am your wife, am I not? 

Herod. Of a truth, dear and noble Herodias, 
you are my wife, and before that you were the 
wife of my brother. 

Herodias. It was thou didst snatch me from 
his arms. 

Herod. Of a truth I was stronger than he 
was. But let us not talk of that matter. I do 
not desire to talk of it. It is the cause of the 
terrible words that the prophet has spoken. Per- 
adventure on account of it a misfortune will 
come. Let us not speak of this matter. Noble 
Herodias, we are not mindful of our guests. 
Fill thou my cup, my well-beloved. Ho ! fill 
with wine the great goblets of silver, and the 
great goblets of glass. I will drink to Caesar. 
There are Romans here, we must drink to Caesar. 

All. Caesar ! Caesar ! 

Herod. Do you not see your daughter, how 
pale she is? 

Herodias. What is it to you if she be pale or 
not? 

Herod. Never have I seen her so pale. 

Herodias. You must not look at her. 

The Voice of Iokanaan. In that day the 
sun shall become black like sackcloth of hair, and 
the moon shall become like blood, and the stars 



40 SALOME 

of the heaven shall fall upon the earth like un- 
ripe figs that fall from the fig-tree, and the kings 
of the earth shall be afraid. 

Herodias. Ah ! ah ! I should like to see that 
day of which he speaks, when the moon shall be- 
come like blood, and when the stars shall fall 
upon the earth like unripe figs. This prophet 
talks like a drunken man, but I cannot suifer the 
sound of his voice. I hate his voice. Command 
him to be silent. 

Herod. I will not. I cannot understand what 
it is that he saith, but it may be an omen. 

Herodias. I do not believe in omens. He 
speaks like a drunken man. 

Herod. It may be he is drunk with the wine 
of God. 

Herodias. What wine is that, the wine of 
God? From what vineyards is it gathered? In 
what winepress may one find it? 

Herod. {From this point he looks all the while 
at Salome.) Tigellinus, when you were at 
Rome of late, did the Emperor speak with you 
on the subject of ? 

Tigellinus. On what subject, my lord? 

Herod. On what subject? Ah! I asked you 
a question, did I not? I have forgotten what I 
would have asked you. 

Herodias. You are looking again at my 



SALOME 41 

daughter. You must not look at her. I have 
already said so. 

Herod. You say nothing else. 

Herodias. I say it again. 

Herod. And that restoration of the Temple 
about which they have talked so much, will any- 
thing be done? They say that the veil of the 
Sanctuary has disappeared, do they not? 

Herodias. It was thyself didst steal it. Thou 
speakest at random and without wit. I will not 
stay here. Let us go within. 

Herod. Dance for me, Salome. 

Herodias. I will not have her dance. 

Salome. I have no desire to dance, Tetrarch. 

Herod. Salome, daughter of Herodias, dance 
for me. 

Herodias. Peace. Let her alone. 

Herod. I command thee to dance, Salome. 

Salome. I will not dance, Tetrarch. 

Herodias (laughing) . You see how she obeys 
you. 

Herod. What is it to me whether she dance 
or not? It is nought to me. To-night I am 
happy. I am exceeding happy. Never have I 
been so happy. 

First Soldier. The Tetrarch has a sombre 
look. Has he not a sombre look ? 

Second Soldier. Yes, he has a sombre look. 



42 SALOME 

Herod. Wherefore should I not be happy? 
Caesar, who is lord of the world, Caesar, who is 
lord of all things, loves me well. He has just 
sent me most precious gifts. Also, he has prom- 
ised me to summon to Rome the King of Cappa- 
docia, who is mine enemy. It may be that at 
Rome he will crucify him, for he is able to do all 
things that he has a mind to do. Verily, Caesar is 
lord. Therefore I do well to be happy. I am 
very happy ; never have I been so happy. There 
is nothing in the world that can mar my happi- 
ness. 

The Voice of Iokanaan. He shall be seated 
on his throne. He shall be clothed in scarlet and 
purple. In his hand he shall bear a golden cup 
full of his blasphemies. And the angel of the 
Lord shall smite him. He shall be eaten of 
worms. 

Herodias. You hear what he says about you. 
He says that you shall be eaten of worms. 

Herod. It is not of me that he speaks. He 
speaks never against me. It is of the King of 
Cappadocia that he speaks ; the King of Cappa- 
docia, who is mine enemy. It is he who shall 
be eaten of worms. It is not I. Never has he 
spoken word against me, this prophet, save that 
I sinned in taking to wife the wife of my brother. 



SALOME 43 

It may be he is right. For, of truth, you are 
sterile. 

Herodias. I am sterile, I? You say that, 
you that are ever looking at my daughter, you 
that would have her dance for your pleasure? 
You speak as a fool. I have borne a child. You 
have gotten no child, no, not on one of your 
slaves. It is you who are sterile, not I. 

Herod. Peace, woman! I say that you are 
sterile. You have borne me no child, and the 
prophet says that our marriage is not a true mar- 
riage. He says that it is a marriage of incest, a 
marriage that will bring evils. I fear he is 
right; I am sure that he is right. But it is not 
the hour to speak of these things. I would.be 
happy at this moment. Of a truth, I am happy. 
There is nothing I lack. 

Herodias. I am glad you are of so fair a 
humor to-night. It is not your custom. But it 
is late. Let us go within. Do not forget that 
we hunt at sunrise. All honors must be shown 
to Caesar's ambassadors, must they not ? 

Second Soldier. The Tetrarch has a sombre 
look. 

First Soldier. Yes, he has a sombre look. 

Herod. Salome, Salome, dance for me. I 
pray thee dance for me. I am sad to-night. 
Yes, I am passing sad to-night. When I came 



44 SALOME 

hither I shpped in blood, which is an ill omen; 
also I heard in the air a beating of wings, a beat- 
ing of giant wings. I cannot tell what that may 
mean. I am sad to-night. Therefore dance for 
me. Dance for me, Salome, I beseech thee. If 
thou dancest for me thou mayest ask of me what 
thou wilt, and I will give it thee. Yes, dance for 
me, Salome, and wdiatsoever thou shalt ask of 
me I will give it thee, even unto the half of my 
kingdom. 

Salome (rising). Will you indeed give me 
whatsoever I shall ask of you, Tetrarch? 

Herodias. Do not dance, my daughter. 

Herod. Whatsoever thou shalt ask of me, 
even unto the half of my kingdom. 

Salome. You swear it, Tetrarch? 

Herod. I swear it, Salome. 

Herodias. Do not dance, my daughter. 

Salome. By what will you swear this thing, 
Tetrarch ? 

Herod. By my life, by my crown, by my 
gods. Whatsoever thou shalt desire I will give 
it thee, even to the half of my kingdom, if thou 
wilt but dance for me. O Salome, Salome, dance 
for me ! 

Salome. You have sworn an oath, Tetrarch. 

Herod. I have sworn an oath. 

Herodias. My daughter, do not dance. 



SALOME 45 

Herod. Even to the half of my kingdom. 
Thou wilt be passing fair as a queen, Salome, if 
it please thee to ask for the half of my kingdom. 
Will she not be fair as a queen ? Ah ! it is cold 
here ! There is an icy wind, and I hear — where- 
fore do I hear in the air this beating of wings? 
Ah! one might fancy a huge black bird that 
hovers over the terrace. Why can I not see it, 
this bird ? The beat of its wings is terrible. The 
breath of the wind of its wings is terrible. It is 
a chill wind. Nay, but it is not cold, it is hot. I 
am choking. Pour water on my hands. Give 
me snow to eat. Loosen my mantle. Quick! 
quick! loosen my mantle. Nay, but leave it.. It 
is my garland that hurts me, my garland of 
roses. The flowers are like fire. They have 
burned my forehead. {He tears the wreath 
from his head, and throzvs it on the table.) Ah! 
I can breathe now. How red those petals are ! 
They are like stains of blood on the cloth. That 
does not matter. It is not wise to find symbols 
in everything that one sees. It makes life too 
full of terrors. It were better to say that stains 
of blood are as lovely as rose-petals. It were 

better far to say that But we will not speak 

of this. Now I am happy. I am passing happy. 
Have I not the right to be happy ? Your daugh- 
ter is going to dance for me. Wilt thou not 



46 SALOME 

dance for me, Salome? Thou hast promised to 
dance for me. 

Herodias. I will not have her dance. 

Salome. I will dance for you, Tetrarch. 

Herod. You hear what your daughter says. 
She is going to dance for me. Thou doest well 
to dance for me, Salome. And when thou hast 
danced for me, forget not to ask of me whatso- 
ever thou hast a mind to ask. Whatsoever thou 
shalt desire I will give it thee, even to the half of 
my kingdom. I have sworn it, have I not? 

Salome. Thou hast sworn it, Tetrarch. 

Herod. And I have never failed of my word. 
I am not of those who break their oaths. I know 
not how to lie. I am the slave of my word, and 
my word is the word of a king. The King of 
Cappadocia had ever a lying tongue, but he is 
no true king. He is a coward. Also he owes me 
money that he will not repay. He has even in- 
sulted my ambassadors. He has spoken words 
that were wounding. But Csesar will crucify 
him when he comes to Rome. I know that Cae- 
sar will crucify him. And if he crucify him not, 
yet will he die, being eaten of worms. The 
prophet has prophesied it. Well! Wherefore 
dost thou tarry, Salome ? 

Salome. I am waiting until my slaves bring 
perfumes to mc and the seven veils, and take 



SALOME 47 

from off my feet my sandals. (Slaves bring 
perfumes and the seven veils, and take off the 
sandals of Salome.) 

Herod. Ah, thou art to dance with naked 
feet ! 'Tis well ! 'Tis well ! Thy little feet will 
be like white doves. They will be little white 
flowers that dance upon the trees. No, no, she 
is going to dance on blood ! There is blood spilt 
on the ground. She must not dance on blood. 
It were an evil omen. 

Herodias. What is it to thee if she dance on 
blood? Thou hast waded deep enough in it. 

Herod. What is it to me ? Ah ! look at the 
moon ! She has become red. She has become 
red as blood. Ah! the prophet prophesied truly.' 
He prophesied that the moon would become as 
blood. Did he not prophesy it? All of ye heard 
him prophesying it. And now the moon has be- 
come as blood. Do ye not see it? 

Herodias. Oh, yes, I see it well, and the stars 
are falling like unripe figs, are they not? And 
the sun is becoming black like sackcloth of hair, 
and the kings of the earth are afraid. That, at 
least, one can see. The prophet is justified of 
his words in that at least, for truly the kings of 
the earth are afraid. Let us go within. You 
are sick. They will say at Rome that you are 
mad. Let us go within, I tell you. 



48 SALOME 

The Voice of Iokanaan. Who is this who 
cometh from Edom, who is this who cometh 
from Bozra, whose raiment is dyed with purple, 
who shineth in the beauty of his garments, who 
walketh mighty in his greatness? Wherefore 
is thy raiment stained with scarlet? 

Herodias. Let us go within. The voice of 
that man maddens me. I will not have my 
daughter dance while he is continually crying 
out. I will not have her dance while you look 
at her in this fashion. In a word, I will not have 
her dance. 

Herod. Do not rise, my wife, my queen ; it 
will avail thee nothing. I will not go within till 
she hath danced. Dance, Salome, dance for me. 

Herodias. Do not dance, my daughter. 

Salome. I am ready, Tetrarch. (Salome 
dances the dance of the seven veils.) 

Herod. Ah ! wonderful ! wonderful ! You see 
that she has danced for me, your daughter. 
Come near, Salome, come near, that I may give 
thee thy fee. Ah! I pay a royal price to those 
who dance for my pleasure. I will pay thee roy- 
ally. I will give thee whatsover thy soul de- 
sireth. What wouldst thou have ? Speak. 

Salome (kneeling). I would that they pres- 
ently bring me in a silver charger 

Herod (laughing). In a silver charger? 



SALOME 49 

Surely yes, in a silver charger. She is charming, 
is she not ? What is it that thou wouldst have in 
a silver charger, O sweet and fair Salome, thou 
that are fairer than all the daughters of Judaea? 
What wouldst thou have them bring thee in a 
silver charger ? Tell me. Whatsoever it may be, 
thou shalt receive it. My treasures belong to 
thee. What is that thou w^ouldst have, Salome? 

Salome (rising). The head of lokanaan. 

Herodias. Ah ! that is well said, my daughter. 

Herod. No, no ! 

Herodl\s. That is well said, my daughter. 

Herod. No, no, Salome. It is not that thou 
desirest. Do not listen to thy mother's voice. 
She is ever giving thee evil counsel. Do not heed 
her. 

Salome. It is not my mother's voice that I 
heed. It is for mine own pleasure that I ask 
the head of lokanaan in a silver charger. You 
have sworn an oath, Herod. Forget not that 
you have sworn an oath. 

Herod. I know it. I have sworn an oath by 
my gods. I know it wxll. But I pray thee, Sa- 
lome, ask of me something else. Ask of me the 
half of my kingdom, and I will give it thee. 
But ask not of me what thy lips have asked. 

Salome. I ask of 3^ou the head of lokanaan. 

Herod. No, no ; I will not give it thee. 



50 SALOME 

Salome. You have sworn an oath, Herod. 

Herodias. Yes, you have sworn an oath. 
Everybody heard you. You swore it before 
everybody. 

Herod. Peace, woman ! It is not to you I 
speak 

Herodias. My daughter has done well to ask 
the head of lokanaan. He has covered me with 
insults. He has said unspeakable things against 
me One can see that she loves her mother well. 
Do not yield, my daughter. He has sworn an 
oath ; he has sworn an oath. 

Herod. Peace ! Speak not to me ! Salome, 
I pray thee be not stubborn. I have ever been 
kind toward thee. I have ever loved thee. It 
may be that I have loved thee too much. There- 
fore ask not this thing of me. This is a terrible 
thing, an awful thing to ask of me. Surely, I 
think thou art jesting. The head of a man that 
is cut form his body is ill to look upon, is it not? 
It is not meet that the eyes of a virgin should 
look upon such a thing. What pleasure couldst 
thou have in it? There is no pleasure that thou 
couldst have in it. No, no ; it is not that thou de- 
sirest. Hearken to me. I have an emerald, a 
great emerald and round, that the minion of 
Caesar has sent unto me. When thou lookest 
through this emerald thou canst see that which 



SALOME 51 

passeth afar off. Caesar himself carries such an 
emerald when he goes to the circus. But my 
emerald is the larger. I know well that it is the 
larger. It is the largest emerald in the whole 
world. Thou wilt take that, wilt thou not? Ask 
it of me and I will give it thee. 

Salome. I demand the head of lokanaan. 

Herod. Thou are not listening. Thou art not 
listening. Suffer me to speak, Salome. 

Salome. The head of loivanaan ! 

Herod. No, no, thou wouldst not have that. 
Thou sayest that but to trouble me, because that 
I have looked at thee and ceased not this night. 
It is true, I have looked at thee and ceased not 
this night. Thy beauty has troubled me. Thy 
beauty has grievously troubled me, and I have 
looked at thee overmuch. Nay, but I will look 
at thee no more. One should not look at any- 
thing. Neither at things, nor at people should 
one look. Only in mirrors is it well to look, for 
mirrors do but show us masks. Oh ! oh ! bring 
wine ! I thirst ! Salome, Salome, let us be as 

friends. Bethink thee Ah! what would I 

say? What was't? Ah! I remember it! Sa- 
lome, — nay, but come nearer to me ; I fear thou 
wilt not hear my words, — Salome, thou know- 
est my white peacocks, my beautiful white pea- 
cocks, that walk in the garden between the myr- 



52 SALOME 

ties and the tall cypress-trees. Their beaks are 
gilded with gold, and the grains that they eat 
are smeared with gold, and their feet are stained 
with purple. When they cry out the rain comes, 
and the moon shows herself in the heavens when 
they spread their tails. Two by two, they walk 
between the cypress-trees and the black myrtles, 
and each has a slave to tend it. Sometimes they 
fly across the trees, and anon they couch in the 
grass, and round the pools of the water. There 
are not in all the world birds so wonderful. I 
know that Caesar himself has no birds so fair as 
my birds. I will give thee fifty of my peacocks. 
They will follow thee whithersoever thou goest, 
and in the midst of them thou wilt be like unto 
the moon in the midst of a great white cloud. I 
will give them to thee, all. I have but a hun- 
dred, and in the whole world there is no king 
who has peacocks like unto my peacocks. But I 
will give them all to thee. Only thou must loose 
me from my oath, and must not ask of me that 
which thy lips have asked of me. {He empties 
the cup of ivine.) 

Salome. Give me the head of lokanaan. 

Herodias. Well said, my daughter ! As for 
you, you are ridiculous with your peacocks. 

Herod. Peace ! you are always crying out. 
You cry out like a beast of prey. You must not 



SALOME 53 

cry in such fashion. Your voice wearies me. 
Peace, I tell you ! Salome, think on what thou 
art doing. It may be that this man comes from 
God. He is a holy man. The finger of God has 
touched him. God has put terrible words into his 
mouth. In the palace, as in the desert, God is 
ever with him ! It may be that He is, at least. 
One cannot tell, but it is possible that God is 
with him and for him. If he die also, perad- 
venture some evil may befall me. Verily, he 
has said that evil will befall some one on the 
day whereon he dies. On whom should it fall if 
it fall not on me ? Remember, I slipped in blood 
when I came hither. Also did I not hear the 
beating of wings in the air, a beating of vast 
wings? These are ill omens. And there were 
other things. I am sure there were other things, 
though I saw them not. Thou wouldst not that 
some evil should befall me, Salome? Listen to 
me again. 

Salome. Give me the head of lokanaan ! 

Herod. Ah ! thou art not listening to me. 
Be calm. As for me, am I not calm ? I am alto- 
gether calm. Listen. I have jewels hidden in 
this place — jewels that thy mother even has 
never seen ; jewels that are marvelous to look at. 
I have a collar of pearls, set in four rows. They 
are like unto moons chained with rays of silver. 



54 SALOME 

They are even as half a hundred moons caught 
in a golden net. On the ivor}^ breast of a queen 
they have rested. Thou shalt be as fair as a 
queen when thou wearest them. I have ame- 
thysts of two kinds ; one that is black like wine, 
and one that is red like wine that one has col- 
ored with water. I have topazes yellow as are 
the eyes of tigers, and topazes that are pink as 
the eyes of a wood-pigeon, and green topazes 
that are as the eyes of cats. I have opals that 
burn always, with a flame that is cold as ice, 
opals that make sad men's minds, and are afraid 
of the shadows. I have onyxes like the eyeballs 
of a dead woman. I have moonstones that 
change when the moon changes, and are wan 
when they see the sun. I have sapphires big like 
eggs, and as blue as blue flowers. The sea wan- 
ders within them, and the moon comes never to 
trouble the blue of their waves. I have chryso- 
lites and beryls, and chrysoprases and rubies ; I 
have sardonyx and hyacinth stones, and stones of 
chalcedony, and I will give them all unto thee, 
all, and other things will I add to them. The 
King of the Indies has but even now sent me 
four fans fashioned from the feathers of par- 
rots, and the King of Numidia a garment of os- 
trich feathers. I have a crystal, into which it is 
not lawful for a woman to look, nor may young 



SALOME 55 

men behold it until they have been beaten with 
rods. In a coffer of nacre I have three won- 
drous turquoises. He who wears them on his 
forehead can imagine things which are not, and 
he who carries them in his hand can turn the 
fruitful woman into a woman that is barren. 
These are great treasures. They are treasures 
above all price. But this is not all. In an ebony 
coffer I have two cups of amber that are like 
apples of pure gold, if an enemy pour poison 
into these cups they become like apples of silver. 
In a coff'er incrusted with amber I have sandals 
incrusted with glass. I have mantles that have 
been brought from the land of the Seres, and 
bracelets decked about with carbuncles and with 
jade that come from the city of Euphrates. 
What desirest thou more than this, Salome? 
Tell me the thing that thou desirest, and I will 
give it thee. All that thou askest I will give thee, 
save one thing only. I will give thee all that 
is mine, save only the life of one man. I will 
give thee the mantle of the high priest. I will 
give thee the veil of the sanctuary. 

The Jews. Oh ! oh ! 

Salome. Give me the head of lokanaan! 

Herod (sinking back in his seat). Let her be 
given what she asks ! Of a truth she is her 
mother's child! (The first soldier approaches. 



56 SALOME 

Herodias draws from the hand of the Tetrarch 
the ring of death, and gives it to the soldier, 
who straightway bears it to the executioner. 
The executioner looks scared.) Who has taken 
my ring? There was a ring on my right hand. 
Who has drunk my wine? There was wine in 
my cup. It was full of wine. Some one has 
drunk it! Oh! surely some evil will befall some 
one. {The executioner goes down into the cis- 
tern.) Ah! wherefore did I give my oath? 
Hereafter let no king swear an oath. If he 
keep it not, it is terrible, and if he keep it, it is 
terrible also. 

Herodias. My daughter has done well. 

Herod. I am sure that some misfortune will 
happen. 

Salome (she leans over the cistern and lis- 
tens). There is no sound. I hear nothing. 
Why does he not cry out, this man ? Ah ! if any 
man sought to kill me, I would cry out, I would 
struggle, I would not suffer. Strike, strike, Naa- 
man, strike, I tell you ! No, I hear nothing. 
There is a silence, a terrible silence. Ah ! some- 
thing has fallen upon the ground. I heard some- 
thing fall. It was the sword of the executioner. 
He is afraid, this slave. He has dropped his 
sword. He dares not kill him. He is a coward, 
this slave! Let soldiers be sent. (She sees 



SALOME 57 

the page of Herodias and addresses him.) Come 
hither. Thou wert the friend of him who is 
dead, wert thou not? Well, I tell thee, there are 
not dead men enough. Go to the soldiers and 
bid them go down and bring me the thing I ask, 
the thing the Tetrarch has promised me, the 
thing that is mine. {The page recoils. She 
turns to the soldiers.) Hither, ye soldiers. Get 
ye down into this cistern and bring me the head 
of this man. Tetrarch, Tetrarch, command your 
soldiers that they bring me the head of loka- 
naan. {A huge black arm, the arm of the exe- 
cutioner, comes forth from the cistern, hearing 
on a silver shield the head of lokanaan. Salome 
seises it. Herod hides his face ivith his cloak. 
Herodias seniles and fans herself. The Naza- 
renes fall on their knees and begin to pray.) 
Ah ! thou wouldst not suffer me to kiss thy 
mouth, lokanaan. Well ! I will kiss it now. I 
will bite it with my teeth as one bites a ripe 
fruit. Yes, I will kiss thy mouth, lokanaan. I 
said it ; did I not say it ? I said it. Ah ! I will 
kiss it now. But wherefore dost thou not look 
at me, lokanaan? Thine eyes that were so ter- 
rible, so full of rage and scorn, are shut now. 
Wherefore are they shut ? Open thine eyes ! 
Lift up thine eyelids, lokanaan ! Wherefore 
dost thou not look at me? Art thou afraid of 



58 Salome: 

me, lokanaan, that thou wilt not look at me? 
And thy tongue, that was like a red snake dart- 
ing poison, it moves no more, it speaks no 
words, lokanaan, that scarlet viper that spat its 
venom upon me. It is strange, is it not? How 
is it that the red viper stirs no longer? Thou 
wouldst have none of me, lokanaan. Thou re- 
jectedest me. Thou didst speak evil words 
against me. Thou didst bear thyself toward me 
as to a harlot, as to a woman that is a wanton, 
to me, Salome, daughter of Herodias, Princess 
of Judaea! Well, I still live, but thou art dead, 
and thy head belongs to me. I can do with it 
what I will. I can throw it to the dogs and to 
the birds of the air. That which the dogs leave, 
the birds of the air shall devour. Ah, lokanaan, 
lokanaan, thou wert the man that I loved alone 
among men ! All other men were hateful to me. 
But thou were beautiful ! Thy body was a col- 
umn of ivory set upon feet of silver. It was a 
garden full of doves and lilies of silver. It was 
a tower of silver decked with shields of ivory. 
There was nothing in the world so white as thy 
body. There was nothing in the world so black 
as thy hair. In the whole world there was noth- 
ing so red as thy mouth. Thy voice was a censer 
that scattered strange perfumes, and when I 
looked on thee I heard a strange music. Ah! 



SALOME 59 

wherefore didst thou not look at me, lokanaan? 
With the cloak of thine hands, and with the 
cloak of thy blasphemies thou didst hide thy face. 
Thou didst put upon thine eyes the covering of 
him who would see God. Well, thou hast seen 
thy God, lokanaan, but me, me, thou didst never 
see. If thou hadst seen me thou hadst loved me. 
I saw thee, and I loved thee. Oh, how I loved 
thee ! I love thee yet, lokanaan. I love only 
thee. I am athirst for thy beauty; I am hungry 
for thy body; and neither wine nor apples can 
appease my desire. What shall I do now, loka- 
naan? Neither the floods nor the great waters 
can quench my passion. I was a princess, and 
thou didst scorn me. I was a virgin, and thou 
didst take my virginity from me. I was chaste, 
and thou didst fill my veins with fire. Ah ! ah ! 
wherefore didst thou not look at me? If thou 
hadst looked at me thou hadst loved me. Well 
I know that thou wouldst have loved me, and 
the mystery of Love is greater than the mystery 
of Death. 

Herod. She is monstrous, thy daughter; I 
tell thee she is monstrous. In truth, what she 
has done is a great crime. I am sure that it is a 
crime against some unknown God. 

Herodias. I am well pleased with my daugh- 



6o SALOME 

ter. She has done well. And I would stay 
here now. 

Herod (rising). Ah! There speaks my 
brother's wife ! Come ! I will not stay in this 
place. Come, I tell thee. Surely some terrible 
thing will befall. Manasseh, Issachar, Ozias, put 
out the torches. I will not look at things, I will 
not suffer things to look at me. Put out the 
torches ! Hide the moon ! Hide the stars ! Let 
us hide ourselves in our palace, Herodias. I be- 
gin to be afraid. ( The slaves put out the torches. 
The stars disappear. A great cloud crosses the 
moon and conceals it completely. The stage he- 
comes quite dark. The Tetrarch begins to climb 
the staircase.) 

The Voice of Salome. Ah! I have kissed 
thy mouth, lokanaan, I have kissed thy mouth. 
There was a bitter taste on thy lips. Was it 
the taste of blood? Nay; but perchance it was 
the taste of love. They say that love hath a 
bitter taste. But what matter? what matter? I 
have kissed thy mouth, lokanaan, I have kissed 
thy mouth. (A ray of moonlight falls on Sa- 
lome and illumines her.) 

Herod {turning round and seeing Salome). 
Kill that woman! {The soldiers rush forward 
and crush beneath their shields Salome, daughter 
of Herodias, Princess of Judaea.) 

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